The Left Hand Path
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Collaboration with channeld. A grisly murder in West Virginia brings NCIS into contact with a sadistic cult and the investigation makes Tim and Vance their targets.  Already complete. 10 chapters plus an epilogue. Will post one per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story is a collaboration between channeld and myself. It was written for the NFA Double Tag Team It challenge. It had to be written as a collaboration and had to star two of the NCIS characters. The story does get pretty dark...we surprised the challenge issuer, but we hope you enjoy it. It is set more or less in the present. We did as much research as we could to get stuff right, but there's a lot of extrapolation that goes on in the story...hopefully it's not too off. :)

**Disclaimer:** Neither channeld nor myself own NCIS and we did not make any money off this story...but if the writers wanted to use it on the show, I don't think either of us would mind. :)

* * *

><p><strong>The Left-Hand Path<br>**by Channeld and Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

The night was quiet. The sky, clear and sparkling with stars. It was a cold night, the snow on the ground packed and frozen hard. It had been a long winter, unseasonably cold for that year. The Appalachians were snow-covered from Maine down to the Carolinas. The deciduous trees covering the mountains of Pendleton County, West Virginia, were bare, reaching up to heaven in silent supplication.

...with one exception.

One branch on a large tree sagged beneath an uncommon weight.

The silent night air was suddenly broken by a ragged scream, one that was forcibly muffled.

Five black-clad figures moved through the silent forest, their feet making slight noises on the cold snow, but as little as was possible. They moved lightly, swiftly. Without speaking, they made a ring around the tree...around the writhing, upside-down figure whose blood was dripping down his naked body into a basin on the ground.

Beside the basin sat another man. He was clad only in a simple wrap around his waist. He stared at the blood dripping down from the deep lacerations on the naked body. He was waiting. Painted on his forehead was a large eye which almost seem alive, it had been drawn with such detail that it could have been a third eye...only it never blinked.

The man spread his hands away from his chest, revealing a vertical series of symbols, running from his neck to the top of his wrap at his waist, each painted in a different color. At the gesture, one of the black-clad figures stepped forward, pulling off the black hood...revealing long dark hair and another painted eye in the middle of her forehead.

The woman began walking forward to the trembling man in the tree, shedding her clothes as she did so.

A step and she pulled off her gloves.

A step. The warm coat fell to the ground.

A step. The black top.

A step. The boots were removed.

A step. The socks came off.

A step. The pants were carefully placed on the ground.

By the time she stood in front of the man, she, too, was naked, the same painted symbols marking her body. She reached out toward the blood running down the bare chest. With one finger she drew a symbol over his heart, tracing what had already been etched there.

One more step and she was perhaps an inch away from him. Reaching down into the catch basin, she pulled out a small object, clasping it tightly in her hand.

The man seated on the ground extended his hand. The woman kissed the object and then placed it on his palm.

"Hey! What are you doing over there?"

The woman stopped, looked at the man on the ground. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and gestured. The others turned and ran through the forest. The woman stooped to gather her clothing, knowing that nothing could be left behind which might identify her. Without bothering to put on anything more than her boots, she and the man ran through the trees, hearing further shouts behind them, but knowing that they would elude capture.

They must elude capture and so they would.

"Hey!"

Another man, a night hunter, not one of the group, ran into the clearing and gasped in shock and revulsion.

"Help...me..."

He ran to the tree, pulled out a knife and cut the rope holding the naked man in place. Blood still streamed from ten deep lacerations.

"Okay, fella, don't worry. I'll help you."

The man pulled out his cell phone and then swore, realizing that he had no service...as was unfortunately common in this area. Cursing under his breath, he began to engage in what he knew was a futile attempt to save the life of the man currently bleeding out into the snow.

He tried. He really did, but it had been too late long before he had come. All that the man could do was be there and watch him die.

And die he did, less than five minutes after he was cut down from the tree.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Oh, for Pete's sake; would you get a move on, McGee? Is it hoping too much that the food would still be a _little _hot by the time we got back to NCIS?" Tony stopped where Sicard Street curved and the NCIS building became visible. He had been almost warm from walking, but even a short stop let the cold winter air sting his face.

"_I _was the one who suggested taking a taxi, Tony, but _you_—"

"Stop playing the blame game, and get those feet moving! I'm hungry, and want to eat!" He tightly clutched the large take-out bags he held.

Tim started to growl something, but the growl turned into a cough. He couldn't easily walk and cough, so he halted and let the coughs come. This wasn't the first time today, or even the second. "_Hey!_" he managed to say, as Tony shoved him from behind. "I'm going; I'm going!"

It wasn't many more steps until they were inside NCIS' enveloping warmth. The sudden warm air made Tim cough again, although the spell was much shorter.

Tony relieved Tim of one of his take-out bags. "Okay; okay. Keep your lungs inside you. No one wants to see that."

The elevator dinged and opened. Ziva greeted them with a wide smile. "At last! Lunch! Was the new restaurant on 8th Street worth the walk in this cold?"

"Hope so," Gibbs grunted, taking the bags and pulling food out of them. "Know it's hard to park up there at this time of day, but ya still could've taken a taxi, ya know. You okay, McGee?"

"Yeah; I'm fine, boss." Tim swiveled up a couple more chairs for Ducky and Abby, who would be joining them for this late, working lunch. They had been working hard on this case since just after 6 this morning, and there were aspects of it that would be easier discussed as a group…over food.

"He's not up for a little brisk walk in the cold," Tony teased.

"You _do _look a little pale, Tim," said Abby.

Tim raised his hands to ward them off. "I'm fine; I'm fine. Thanks for your concern, but I'm really okay. Could I have that bread stick?"

"You went to the doctor the other day with a bad cold," said Ziva. "What did he say?"

"Uh, well…"

"Timothy?"

"I, uh, didn't have a cold, he said."

"Yes? Out with it, lad."

Inside, Tim groaned. He should have told them. He shouldn't have agreed to walk the ¾ of a mile in this cold, cold weather. He should have… "I have walking pneumonia," he said quietly. Over the cries and snorts he stared down at his lunch plate. It, at least, would place no blame on him.

"Go home, McGee," said Gibbs. "Don't need you here if you're sick."

"But boss; I spent all weekend at home, staring at my walls. I'll go nuts spending any more time there! Look; they call it walking pneumonia because you can walk around with it. It's not that serious. I'm taking antibiotics. I feel pretty good."

"Timothy, you either have some bad advice, or else you are deluding yourself," Ducky said, a touch sharply. "While it is a milder form of community-acquired pneumonia, things can still go wrong with it if you do not take proper care of yourself! And in this weather…!"

Gibbs considered. "Is he at risk in being here, Duck?"

"Safely inside? No, as long as he does not exert himself too much. But I cannot allow him to go out in the field until he has made a full recovery."

Over a forkful of food, Gibbs half-closed his eyes and nodded. Tim smiled ever-so-slightly, believing he had gotten off lightly.

Then Gibbs stood up. "McGee. My office."

Tim's spirits plummeted faster than he knew the elevator could go.

When Gibbs hit the stop switch in the elevator, his eyes were full of fury. "You tell me why I shouldn't put you on suspension for not exhibiting any common sense!"

"Boss, I—"

"If you'd gone out in the field and collapsed when someone needed you at their back—"

Tim swallowed. "That's not likely."

"But it could happen. You risk your life; you risk the life of everyone on this team by a sin of omission."

Another swallow. "Sorry, boss."

"I should just make you go home and use up all of your sick leave. But…as long as you behave yourself, you can stay here on desk duty."

"Okay, Thanks."

"You screw up and you'll wish you had never come in."

"Got it."

With a flick of the switch, the elevator resumed moving and opened up back on the squad room level.

The others noticed Tim's pinched face and Gibbs' fading steely look, but pretended not to notice.

Tim smiled wanly. "Did you guys leave any rice for me?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It took a few minutes to get rid of the awkward silence, but after that, the meal resumed. Tim tried to suppress any desire to cough because whenever he did, Gibbs would give him a _look_. He hated getting the _look_ from Gibbs. It said that he wasn't in the clear yet. He knew he had to toe the line...probably for the rest of his life to make up for this. Gibbs' point had been very clear and Tim had no intention of putting anyone else's life on the line.

The tightness built up in his chest and he tried to cough covertly.

He failed. Ducky actually laughed.

"For heaven's sake, lad. Let it out or it will only be worse later. No sense in trying to hide it. We all know you're ill now."

Tim tried not to, but he couldn't help it. He laughed...and then coughed. Tony unhelpfully thumped him on the back, nearly making him spill his rice on the floor, and then the conversation finally turned onto the topic at hand.

"Ducky?" Gibbs asked...succinctly as ever.

"It is an interesting case, particularly after twenty years. To search for closure so long after a death, to fixate on this case, when it is not even a parent but rather an aunt. It is quite..."

"Is there anything to this?" Gibbs asked, interrupting.

"Actually, yes. I believe there is. Petty Officer Williamson was adamant that there was more to the damage to the corpse than a fall and animals chewing on the exposed flesh. She gained access to the autopsy records and has apparently studied them in great detail."

"Timeline," Gibbs said.

Tim swallowed hurriedly, wanting to show himself to be a worthwhile addition to this discussion. In his haste, he choked and coughed. Again, Tony unhelpfully slapped him on the back.

"Careful, Probie, your lungs can't take the pressure."

Gibbs rolled his eyes but said nothing as Tim cleared his throat.

"Lt. Williamson was known to enjoy hiking in the western part of Virginia," he said, clearing his throat again. "The Petty Officer says that her aunt had been going to the Little Sluice Hike on the border between Virginia and West Virginia." He got up and grabbed for the clicker, bringing a topographical map of the hike up on the plasma. "She was going early in the spring, but she was an experienced hiker. Petty Officer Williamson says that she remembers sitting with her aunt while she was getting ready to leave. She had all the required gear, including extra clothes and food in case she decided to camp out overnight."

"Is she certain?" Ziva asked. "It has been twenty years. That is a long time to remember these details."

Tim smiled. "She had her diary. She wrote everything down because her aunt had promised to take her along the next year when she turned thirteen."

"What made her revisit it?" Abby asked. "How old is she now?"

"Thirty-three. Very nice shape," Tony said.

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss." Tony rubbed at his head. "She said that she was reminiscing a couple of years ago and decided to go back through all the details. Williamson apparently saved her from turning into a stereotypical wild child. She wanted to know exactly what had happened and was disappointed by the few details that were given."

"I must say that her list of discrepancies is quite thorough," Ducky added. "I have never seen such attention to detail. The Petty Officer marked down every place she wanted me to reexamine the body. Not that I would have been any less than thorough, but this is on the level of an obsession with finding out the truth."

Gibbs nodded. "How is the body?"

"Not pretty, Jethro. It was partially decomposed when the poor woman's body was discovered."

"And?"

"And I'm doing my best. There are some strangely-shaped lacerations that have intrigued me. I'm hoping to get Abigail to work her magic on them."

"Lay it on me, Duckman, and I'll work miracles!"

"Interviews?" Gibbs asked.

"Petty Officer Williamson is the most eager. Much of her family seems to think that this is only going to reopen old wounds and not help in the slightest. However, Lt. Williamson's friends... You know, it's not very nice having both these women with the same last name. Couldn't _either_ of them have got married so that we could get rid of some of the confusion?"

"Would you like to call them by their first names, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his tone indicating a swiftly-approaching headslap if he didn't get on with it.

"So...Melissa's friends are willing to talk but they say that they don't remember a whole lot from back then. Most of them are nearly sixty by now."

"What does...Danielle's commanding officer have to say about her?" Ziva asked, smiling slightly.

"She's exemplary," Tim reported. "She seems intent on following in the footsteps of her aunt and do just as well in the Navy."

"Well, then, we'll have to wait on Ducky and Abby for that."

"Actually, you'll be busy elsewhere."

The whole crew turned toward the stairs. Vance finished coming down and walked over.

"What is it, Director?" Gibbs asked.

"A new case. Sergeant Marcus James went missing three days ago and has turned up murdered in West Virginia."

"Murdered?"

"Trussed upside down in a tree and left to bleed to death, apparently. I'm handing over the Williamson case to Lovitz' team and I want you guys on this one."

The working lunch broke up rather quickly. Abby swiped some spring rolls and headed back to her lair. Ducky went down to prepare Autopsy for receipt of the body. The MCRT began to gather their bags.

"Not you, McGee," Gibbs growled.

Tim flushed but nodded.

"Why not?" Vance asked mildly.

"McSicky has pneumonia," Tony said gleefully.

"_Walking_ pneumonia," Tim corrected and then ducked his head when Gibbs glared at him.

"Just as well," Vance said. "I could use your help in MTAC for a few hours."

"We're going to need him, Vance," Gibbs said.

"And you can use him, but it will take even you a couple of hours to get out there."

"He's sick," Gibbs said.

"I'm not going to ask him to run laps, Agent Gibbs. Surely, you can handle using a keyboard, Agent McGee?"

"Yes, sir. I'm fine."

Gibbs gave Tim another glare and then looked at Tony and Ziva.

"Let's roll."

"On your six, Boss!" Tony said. "Don't let your sniffles get you down, Probie! ...and don't forget to clean up!"

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss."

The trio got on the elevator and the doors closed, leaving the bullpen seeming very empty. Tim sighed, coughed and started cleaning up the leftover food.

"I'll give you a hand, Agent McGee," Vance said.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. I need your assistance. Only fair to give you mine in return."

Tim smiled and tried not to feel left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Vance left suddenly to take an urgent phone call from some other agency head, signing to Tim to meet him in MTAC in 15 minutes. Tim nodded and then glumly passed the time by looking out the window.

The day was gray and unfriendly. The sun had not been seen since Tim and Tony had set out to get lunch, and even then it had only peeked through the clouds which held it prisoner. Now, the clouds had multiplied and darkened. The windows were double paned, but still cold to the touch, as winter attempted to get inside.

They'd all come in to work so early that Tim hadn't had a chance to get the weather forecast before he left home. He called it up on his computer now.

HAZARDOUS WEATHER ALERT

SHORT TERM FORECAST

NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE BALTIMORE MD/WASHINGTON DC  
>TIDAL POTOMAC FROM KEY BRIDGE TO INDIAN HEAD MD-<br>PATAPSCO RIVER INCLUDING BALTIMORE HARBOR-DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA-  
>NORTHERN BALTIMORE-HARFORD-MONTGOMERY-HOWARD-SOUTHERN BALTIMORE-<br>NELSON-ALBEMARLE-GREENE-MADISON-RAPPAHANNOCK-LOUDOUN-ORANGE-  
>CULPEPER-PRINCE WILLIAMMANASSAS/MANASSAS PARK-FAIRFAX-  
>ARLINGTONFALLS CHURCH/ALEXANDRIA-NORTHERN FAUQUIER-  
>SOUTHERN FAUQUIER-<p>

A POWERFUL STORM IS FORECAST TO MOVE THROUGH THE AREA, STARTING WEST IN THE VIRGINIAS, WITH HEAVY SNOW AND DANGEROUSLY HIGH WINDS TODAY. THE POWERFUL WINDS AND HEAVY SNOW ARE LIKELY TO CREATE WHITEOUT CONDITIONS AT TIMES...ESPECIALLY AT SUNDOWN AND EARLY EVENING IN THE BALTI-WASH AREA. LIGHT SNOW WILL START TO OVERSPREAD THE AREA BY 3 PM. ALTHOUGH STRONG WINDS AND SNOW MAY DECREASE IN INTENSITY OVERNIGHT...THE WIND AND SNOW WILL NOT ENTIRELY CEASE. A SECOND AND COLDER STORM IS EXPECTED TO BRING MORE SNOW TO THE AREA TOMORROW AND THE NEXT DAY.

BLIZZARD WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 6 PM TODAY TO 6 PM EST TOMORROW.

SNOWFALL AMOUNTS OF 6 TO 12 INCHES ARE POSSIBLE.

TRAVEL OVER THE HIGHER ELEVATIONS WEST OF THE FORECAST AREA WILL BE VERY DIFFICULT...IF NOT IMPOSSIBLE AT TIMES BETWEEN THIS EVENING AND THE 48 HOURS AFTERWARDS. THE WIND AND SNOW MAY DECREASE BY MIDNIGHT TOMORROW... BUT WILL NOT ENTIRELY END.

A BLIZZARD WARNING MEANS SEVERE WINTER WEATHER CONDITIONS ARE EXPECTED OR OCCURRING. FALLING AND BLOWING SNOW WITH STRONG WINDS AND POOR VISIBILITIES ARE LIKELY. THIS WILL LEAD TO WHITEOUT CONDITIONS...MAKING TRAVEL EXTREMELY YOU MUST TRAVEL...HAVE A WINTER SURVIVAL KIT WITH YOU.

Well, that wasn't good. With a small feeling of self-preservation, Tim was glad that he wasn't going out in _that_. In exchange, he would politely listen to Tony's complaints of the weather when he got back. It was so much nicer to not experience it, himself, even if it meant hunkering down inside NCIS overnight.

When the 15 minutes were up, Tim took the elevator (no need to wear his lungs out on the stairs) to the main MTAC entrance on the third floor. Vance was already there.

"I just sent out an email; don't know if you saw it," Vance remarked to him. "There's a storm coming in; a blizzard. NCIS is closing in 2 hours, in line with most other federal agencies in the area. I need you here, though, McGee. Do you have a problem with that?"

Tim didn't, and said so. "I saw the weather bureau forecast. A night spent here won't matter." _If Abby goes home, maybe I can snag her futon._

"Good. I'll be here, too. Got some nasty stuff in the Persian Gulf that needs my attention. But first—our Marine sergeant. Roody," he addressed one of the technicians, "Do we have Major Moretti on the line yet?"

"He's standing by, sir. Connecting to _Panzer Kaserne_…"

The gigantic plasma screen's test pattern dissolved to a shot at, apparently, the Marine Corps Forces, Europe (MARFOREUR), in Boblingen, Germany. The major looked out at them soberly. "Director Vance, I assume? A pleasure to meet you, sir."

"I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances," said Vance, appreciating the man's politeness and directness.

"This is about Sergeant James? I just got word from the local authorities."

At this, Vance seethed, but tried not to show it. Word should have come through NCIS; not the local yokels. "Yes. We don't have any details yet. I've got my Major Case Response Team en route to the scene. Your sergeant was stationed there in Germany?"

"Yes, sir. He was on leave; said he was going to be vacationing a bit here in Germany. I didn't expect him to wind up in the US; he's supposed to notify his CO if he's going outside the EU."

"So you don't know what he was doing here, or who he might have met up with? A woman, perhaps?"

"No, sir. James was a likeable guy; no enemies that I know of, before you ask. He didn't have a steady girl; he was kind of shy around women, although he did like them. Everyone liked him, though. A nice guy. How did he die, Director?"

"We're not sure yet," Vance said, sounding neutral. They really didn't know anything, at this point. "Major, if you come up with any information, please be sure to let me know."

"Will do, sir."

The connection was cut, and the screen went back to the colored bars. Tim thought idly, _Someday…we'll have better video capability and the scenes in the field will be visible here. It's not that big a step-up, and the special operations unit in L.A. already has something like that…_

"Thank you, Roody and Martensen," Vance said to the two MTAC technicians on duty. "If you want to pack up and head home now, go ahead. The Metro will be packed shortly, I imagine."

"You think you can do the work of the two of us, McGee?" Roody said good-naturedly as he passed by Tim.

"I'll try," Tim smiled back, then looked to Vance for directions.

"The Persian Gulf business can wait a few hours. I want you to trace the sergeant's travel," Vance ordered. "All the way from Germany to West Virginia. Trace his communications and financial tracks. Who did he meet? What was he doing out there?"

"Yes, sir," Tim said, and then added cautiously, "If you don't mind my asking, sir…what's your interest in this case?" It was true; the Director of NCIS didn't often get involved in a case, no matter how bizarre.

"It's what we've heard of the method of the killing. It's so heinous that if we don't keep on top of it, the news leak will be sensational. And I don't like sensational."

"Me, neither," said Tim, and got to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wow, this makes the boondocks look hip," Tony said, looking out the window of the van. "Where is this place...besides the middle of nowhere, West Virginia?"

"Franklin. It is the county seat of Pendleton," Ziva said, rolling her eyes. "The body was found near here. It makes sense for it to be here."

"Yeah, well, there's not much out here."

"You planning on moving here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"No, Boss."

"Then, let's get on with it."

Tony opened the door and shivered. "Man, I hate winter."

"There is the sheriff's office," Ziva said, pointing. "Perhaps we should get to work?"

Tony nodded and got out of the van, looking disgruntled.

"I'll bet the Probie was just trying to get out of coming here. That's why he said he had walking pneumonia," he grumbled. "No one in their right mind would want to come here."

"I think it is lovely," Ziva said. "Like a postcard."

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"Need I remind you two that a man was murdered out here?" Gibbs said tersely.

"No, Boss."

"No, Gibbs."

They headed toward the small sheriff's office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A man lifted the curtain and watched the team head into the sheriff's office. His companions stood beside him.

"NCIS. What is that?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The man was a member of the Marine Corps."

"They arrived too quickly. We have not had time to finish the ceremony."

"We won't be able to finish it here in any case. Too many people are looking. They're remembering the past now."

"The storm is coming...as you said it would. Will we be too late?"

"Not if we leave now. Perhaps it will be better to finish within the boundaries. We will have direct contact with the power we wish to gain."

"We have come too far to stop now."

The man dropped the curtain and deliberately turned away from the sheriff's office door which had reopened, revealing the sheriff and the NCIS team, just as another truck pulled up.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Good afternoon, Jethro! You'll see that Mr. Palmer didn't get us lost for once!"

Jimmy grinned. "I had to get us here on time so we can leave, Dr. Mallard. There's a storm coming in."

"What?" Tony asked. "A storm?"

"Yeah, a real doozy. I even heard one announcer call it a humdinger. I haven't heard anyone use that term since my great aunt decided that she would have five shots of tequila in a row. When she collapsed she said that it had been a real humdinger. I guess that's..." Jimmy trailed off as he noticed everyone staring at him. "...well...it's supposed to be a bad storm anyway."

"Boss?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Don't even think it, DiNozzo. Plan on spending the night."

"But...but _Boss_...We've paid our dues to the small town bed and breakfasts!" Tony protested. "Can't we just–?"

_Thwack!_

"No!"

"Where is the body, Sheriff Dieter?" Ducky asked. "I can assume that he is not in the location where he died?"

"Yeah," Sheriff Dieter said, rubbing his head. "We still had delusions of maybe reviving him. He went all the way to the clinic but there wasn't a chance. He was dead on arrival. We have him in storage. When we saw his Marine Corps tattoo, we were happy to have someone to call. I don't have the manpower to deal with this. Do you know how many people live in this county?"

"Ten?" Tony muttered softly.

_Thwack!_

"Eight thousand, Agent Gibbs. Eight thousand. The biggest crime I deal with is kids being stupid and spinning out in their dads' trucks or the occasional shoplifting. The last murder in the entire county was back in 2004. One murder. ...and this...this is crazy stuff."

"Crazy, how?" Ziva asked.

"You'll see when you look at the body. Crazy. I've never seen anything like it, not in all my years here."

"How long would that be, Sheriff?" Ducky asked as they walked toward the small clinic where the body was being kept.

"Twelve years in Pendleton. I moved here to get away from crap like this." He pushed open the door and led them back. "We have room for one body. That's it. Anything more and we'd have to go to the funeral home to get them to store it."

He pulled open the walk-in freezer and showed them the body.

"Crazy is right. What is all this stuff?" Tony asked.

"You got me," Sheriff Dieter said. "Like I said, I've never seen anything like it before."

"This looks familiar to me," Ducky said, "but I can't think why. These symbols..."

Tony looked more closely at them.

"Tony, photos. Sheriff, can you take us to the scene?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Ziva, with me. Ducky, you think you can beat the storm?"

"Certainly, Jethro. It might be pushing our luck, but I believe we can finish up here and return to NCIS."

"Good. Do it. Keep me informed. We'll probably be stuck here tonight."

"Of course."

"Sheriff?" Gibbs said.

"This way, Agent Gibbs. I'll drive you out there."

As they trooped out, Tony stared at the symbols.

"Getting to you, Anthony?" Ducky asked.

"No...but I think I've seen something like this before. I don't know where, though. What are the odds that you and I have both seen this?"

Ducky chuckled. "Surely somewhere in the vast experiences we two have had, there is some point of commonality. We will both be able to remember eventually, I'm sure. We'll have the time. ...and this poor young man will patiently wait for us to hear what he has to say."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The sheriff's car pulled off the paved road onto a well-packed dirt one, deep in forestland, about 15 miles outside Franklin. Presently he stopped the car in what seemed to be a parking area. A sign on a weathered wooden building read _Little River Campground_.

"This is not a popular area for camping?" Ziva asked, getting out of the car. There was no one else around.

"Oh, it gets busy enough," said Sheriff Dieter. "But we're off-season now. The campgrounds will reopen in late March, and things will be humming then. You come back here in the spring if you want to see the prettiest territory on earth."

"No one camps here at all in the winter?" Ziva persisted. The snow wasn't deep; just a few inches here in this parking area. "I had heard that they make tents and sleeping bags warm enough to keep out even the winter chill."

Gibbs smiled. "That's not the problem. Roads often become inaccessible due to snow. They don't all get plowed like a city street."

"That's true," said the sheriff. "It's easier to just wait until the snow melts in spring. My force has enough to do without having to rescue stranded campers in January. Besides, the campsite owners need a break after a long season. Rod and Betty Goshen, who own this place, spend their winters in Florida."

"Then that raises the question of what our Marine was doing out here at this time of year," Gibbs remarked, scanning the landscapes with the nearly bare trees and the dull greens of random pines. "Sheriff, I know that in some locations in the mountains, they actually close off the roads by gates in winter. The ones that people don't need when they need to go from place to place. You do that here?"

"Not so much. There are other, more popular campgrounds in the mountains that need to keep people out."

"So, anyone could just drive in at this time of year and set themselves up."

"They could. We do a little light patrolling, and if we see a parked car and no one around, we'll try to find 'em and roust 'em, for their own good. Not that they like that. Hunters are mostly okay. They're local, and have the good sense to go home after a couple hours. But we hadn't an inkling of anyone being in this area until your Marine's body was found."

Gibbs gazed at the cloudy sky. "Maybe you'd better take us to the site now…before the roads get blocked."

It was about a half mile hike to the site. "We disturbed as little of it as we could," said Sheriff Dieter. "Josh Runyon was the one that found him. He was out hunting. Good boy; I've known him all his life."

Ziva pulled out a notebook. "Where can we find him?"

"He lives in town. Has an apartment over the general store. He works at the lumberyard."

Gibbs surveyed the area around the tree that Dieter pointed out, looking closely at the numerous boot prints in the snow while Ziva snapped pictures. Below the tree was a dark layer that rested, frozen, on top of the crusty snow. Gibbs took samples over the _click click click _of the camera.

"Lot of blood," the sheriff remarked. "Poor fellow; that must have been agonizing. He was still alive when Josh cut him down, I think I told you."

"Something is missing," said Ziva. "There is a partial impression in the snow here, like of a bowl. Did you pick up anything, Sheriff?"

"Huh. Well it seems to me that we did. Or one of my men did, actually. It would be back at the station. I remember thinking that curious at the time. A bowl. Why a bowl?"

Gibbs shrugged and turned his attention to the boot tracks. "Hard to tell how many individual prints there are," he grunted. "Maybe our lab can figure it out."

"Sorry about our messing up the site," said the sheriff. "It was just my two men and me, plus Josh. But still…"

"Couldn't be helped," said Gibbs. "You say Sergeant James was found hanging? What happened to the rope that held him?"

"We saved it. It's back at the station."

"Whoever did this," said Ziva, looking thoughtful, "was very skilled. Aside from the blood, there is not a trace of stray fiber, or anything else out of place."

"As if they've done this before," Gibbs nodded. He was mentally compiling a list of things to check out, back when they were in a cell phone zone. "Ziva, check where those tracks go, into the trees."

She was already off, having had the same idea. Returning about 10 minutes later, she said, "Nothing of interest. The tracks go about 100 meters and then, where there is a bigger path, head back to the road."

Daylight was fading, and the wind was picking up. "Might as well go back to town," said Gibbs. "We can see what Josh Runyon knows."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tony stared at the photos on the laptop he'd set up in the small bed and breakfast he'd reluctantly checked them into. He knew he had seen the symbols on Marcus James' body somewhere before and it was driving him crazy!

"Come on, DiNozzo, think! Was it in a movie?"

Probably. Everything he knew, he seemed to get from movies. ...but that didn't feel right. He thought that he had seen it somewhere else. In a book? No.

He heard a gasp behind him and turned around quickly to find woman standing in the door, staring at the photo in horror.

"Oh..." He closed the laptop quickly. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"I was just coming to...make sure that..." There was a pile of sheets on the floor. "...we don't get...many visitors in the winter... How did you–?"

Tony looked back at the laptop and then at the innocuous woman standing in his doorway. This was more than just surprise.

"Have you seen something like this before, ma'am?" he asked.

Rather than answer, she quickly bent over and began picking up the sheets. Tony got up and helped her...even thought it was clear that she didn't want him to.

"Your name, ma'am?"

"Martha Bradshaw," she said, very flustered.

"And have you seen something like that before, Ms. Bradshaw?"

"I wasn't supposed to."

"Excuse me?" Tony gestured to a chair. "Do you have time to explain?"

Martha smiled. "You're our only guests right now. If your rooms are ready, then I have time."

Tony looked around. "They look fine to me."

Martha sat down.

"What did you mean?"

"I was only seven years old. It was a long time ago."

"Then, what did you recognize from that photo?" He turned to open the lid.

"Oh...no...I don't need to see it again. I _really_ don't."

Tony turned back. "All right. Then, tell me."

"I saw...something...kind of like that, when I was little girl."

"What did you see?"

"I wandered off in the woods when I was on a picnic with my family. It was nearly fifty years ago now. I got lost and found a clearing. I heard voices and thought it was them. ...but it wasn't."

She stopped talking and picked up one of the sheets, sliding it between her fingers.

"Ms. Bradshaw?"

"No one ever believed me. My parents said I was making it up to keep from getting in trouble. By the time they went back to the clearing, there was no one there. ...but I wasn't lying."

"What did you see?"

"There was a crowd of people, arranged in a circle around a...a basin in the center of the clearing. There was..." She flushed, embarrassed at relating this even now. "...it was a naked man standing in the basin. There were two people pouring... I was really young."

"What?" Tony asked, smiling encouragingly. This was a woman he would never have guessed harbored a tale like this. She was too prim and proper.

"Well...it looked like blood. ...but the man...he had symbols like that. I don't know if they're the same ones, but they were drawn from his head down to...just below his waist." She flushed again. "They weren't bloody like that picture you have...but it was the same things. I told my parents and they said I was a liar..." Now, she smiled. "...which I was at age seven, but I'm telling the truth now."

"I believe you. Do you remember where you were?"

"Only vaguely. I don't think I could show you the place again. It was...too long ago."

"Anything else? What about the other people there."

"I really was only looking...at the...naked man in the tub." Another blush. "I was seven!"

Tony raised his hands. "Hey, I'm the last person to judge. I promise."

Martha relaxed and laughed. "Sorry. I need to check the other rooms before your friends get back. The weird thing was..." She stood. "...we had a huge blizzard just after that. We were snowed in here for days. Funny that there's another blizzard on the way...when that man was just killed."

She walked out and Tony looked at his notes and then opened the laptop again and looked at the symbols on the body. Funny...but not funny ha-ha.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Do you think Tony has found anything?" Ziva asked as they closed the car doors. "...besides a place to sit and flirt?"

"He'd better have," Gibbs said and knocked on the door.

"Hey, you looking for me?"

Gibbs and Ziva turned and saw a man in his twenties, bundled up against the cold.

"Josh Runyon?"

"You're the Navy guys, right?"

"How did you know?" Ziva asked.

"No way you're from around here." He grimaced. "You want to talk about that guy I found."

"Yeah."

"I did tell the sheriff already."

"I'm sure, but we need to hear it from you."

"Okay. I was doing some night hunting. It's legal here," he said defensively. "I've got my license and everything."

"We're not here to arrest you for night hunting. We want to know what you saw."

"Not a lot," Josh said. "I heard people talking and wanted to make sure I didn't have to worry about running into them while I was tracking. I headed toward the clearing, but...when I got there, I saw something really weird."

"What?"

"There were a bunch of people running away, one of them was naked, I think...which was weird. I mean, it's cold at night. It's February!"

"Did you get a good look?" Ziva asked.

Josh cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"At the people who ran away," Ziva clarified.

"I only saw two, but I heard a lot more running around. There was a lady...she was naked. ...and then another guy and he had _something_ on, but not much. They were running away. I... I could have caught them if I'd run after them...but man...that guy was... He was just hanging there and there was so much blood! I couldn't leave him there. I did my best to get him down and help him...but..." Josh ran his hand through his hair. "...but he...the way he was hanging. It was like a dead deer." He shook his head.

"Can you tell us what the scene looked like when you got there?" Ziva asked. "I know you were distracted, but before you cut him down."

"I... It was really weird, you know. All those cuts on his body. That basin catching all the blood."

"Basin? How big was it?"

"Pretty big...it was really wide and shallow... I kicked it over when I was getting him down. My boots are all bloody now. Do you want them?"

"We may."

Josh's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh...I found...something else."

"What?"

"Honestly, I didn't even think about it when I picked it up. It was in the way and I tossed it into my bag. I meant to give it to the sheriff, but I forgot until just now."

"What is it, Josh?" Ziva asked.

"It's a knife. A weird knife. It's in my room."

He moved past them and opened his door. Gibbs and Ziva followed him up the narrow stairs.

"Hey!" Josh exclaimed. "Who trashed my room?"

The room was indeed a mess. There were clothes all over the place. Someone had been looking for something. Josh ran to his bag which was on the floor by the counter.

"The knife is gone. Someone took it. It was right in my bag!" He held up the bag. "It's gone!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Have a care, there, Mister Palmer. We do want to arrive at NCIS in one piece." Ducky gripped the side of his seat for support.

Jimmy didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke. "I'm trying, Doctor Mallard. It's the wind you want to talk to about that. It's pushing the van, and all I can do is…_try_ to compensate." Again he pulled on the wheel as the strong winds shoved the Autopsy van to the right. Small flying clods of dirt hit the windshield and shattered into particles, which then launched themselves back into the air. Here and there were light-colored specks that might have been flurries or sleet. "I think we're going to have a big storm."

"That is what NOAA predicted," Ducky acknowledged. "Which behooves us to make all due haste to get home. But with caution, my lad. With caution."

As often was the case, Jimmy felt that his mentor was slightly contradicting himself. It was after five o'clock now, and growing dark in the gloom of the approaching storm. Larger snowflakes suddenly appeared; not sticking on the windshield yet. Instead they chose to charge at it and at the last most moment, veer off, shooting over the van's roof. "Here it is," he sighed. "And we're still an hour away."

"Patience, Mister Palmer. We'll get there in due course. You seem tense, my lad. I've never known you to be skittish about driving in bad weather."

"I'm not, normally. It's…that body. The brutality of it all…it creeps me out. Doesn't it you?"

Rather than answering directly, Ducky said, "Why is that? You, who can make jokes about almost any misfortune…"

Jimmy gulped. "This death…just seems so inhumanly wrong. I know that people do horrible things for each other, but they usually have an understandable (though not forgivable) reason for it. _I was robbing this guy and you got in my way_. Or,_ We were going to split the loot even-steven and you tried to cheat me. _Or, _You ratted me out to the feds_. I don't have to like that, but I can understand it, hate the murderer, and move on with it. With this murder, though…"

"Careful about leaping to conclusions, my boy."

"It's not a leap to a conclusion; it's an observation. There was obviously some pattern to those blade wounds. Some sick monster made those markings that way, and that's something that goes beyond a vendetta. It's like that poor guy was used for some purpose; defying his humanity…"

Ducky didn't answer, and Jimmy had to turn his head to see if he'd put the doctor to sleep. But he was clearly awake; his eyes open. "Don't you think so, Doctor?" Jimmy prompted.

"I shall reserve judgment, Jimmy," Ducky said. "A trick of the light on a dark, dank day and our eyes may have played tricks on us. Things may not be what they seem."

"Yes, Doctor."

"That much said…what we will find may be unpleasant, indeed."

Snow was coating the highway as they reached the outer suburbs of Washington. "Jimmy, I'll drop you off at your home," said Ducky. "No point in you going to NCIS and then facing a slow Metro ride and a walk home in this weather."

"That's kind of you, Doctor, but will you be okay driving the van in this storm? And who will help you get the sergeant out and into Autopsy?"

"I have driven in snow since long before you were born, Mister Palmer," Ducky huffed. "Scotland is hardly a subtropical paradise, you know. And as for the latter, there are bound to still be people at NCIS who can give me a hand. I'll call in a favor with the Director, if I need to."

Jimmy had a mental image of Director Vance in scrubs, but suppressed a smile. "Okay. If that's what you really want to do…"

"I do think it makes the most sense. Careful, lad; you'll miss the exit for your area. Slow down; don't ride the brakes, watch for ice…"

After dropping Jimmy off, Ducky moved into the driver's seat and expertly maneuvered the van. It was as tame as a lamb in his hands; as if looking for agreement that young James Palmer was not suited to be driving a sensible van which only wanted to do its duty and not be treated like a hot rod. _Youngsters these days, _Ducky thought with a shake of his head. _And then they think we older folks can't manage. How do they think we got to this age?_

He pulled over about a mile away from NCIS and phoned in, calling the administrative number since he didn't know who else would be there. Vance's secretary, Ms. Cook, said she'd take care of having someone meet him.

The "somebody" turned out to be Vance and Tim. "No lifting for you, McGee," said Vance, striding into the garage with Tim close behind him. "Doctor Mallard and I can manage."

Tim nodded. "At least I can open the doors for you two." He watched as Ducky pressed the hydraulic lever switch, and Vance moved the gurney with the sergeant in his body bag into position. The rear platform then descended, and the gurney was then wheeled by Vance off the platform and onto the floor. Ducky then raised the platform again and locked the van.

As Vance pushed the gurney into the elevator and the three of them headed for Autopsy, Ducky said, "I have considered starting with initial photographs and measurements of the sergeant, but without Mister Palmer here…"

"There's no need, Doctor. It can wait until tomorrow. Go on home." Vance and Ducky loaded the body into a drawer, and then Vance flicked on the video phone. "Ms. Sciuto. I thought I told you an hour ago to go home. I'm glad I thought to double-check on you."

The grainy picture of Abby on the phone seemed to bounce in time to some music. "Oh, but Director; storms are so cool! And I have lots that I could be doing here."

"That's very conscientious of you, Ms. Sciuto, but I've cut our forces to a skeleton staff, and—"

Abby looked delighted. "Director, 'Skeleton' is my middle name!"

"Somehow, that does not surprise me," said Vance dryly. "But go home, still. I'm sending Doctor Mallard home now, as well. Perhaps one of you can give the other a lift."

"Sure thing! Ducky, meet me at the entrance in five. Well, ten. Timmy, you can have first dibs on my futon if you're staying overnight." She winked at the camera, and he grinned back.

"Now that that's settled, McGee," said Vance, not hiding his smile, "we have work to get back to."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The storm was rolling in to the DC area. The winds picked up and the snow began falling in earnest...although it was occasionally difficult to tell whether it was falling down or simply blowing sideways from somewhere else. The roads were nearly empty as local residents chose to heed the weather warning and head home early.

...but along Anacostia Drive Southeast, there was a car driving slowly, to be sure, but definitely out in the storm. It pulled over on a small turnout along the bank of the Anacostia River. Six people got out and arranged themselves near the river. Their feet left footprints in the newly-fallen snow...but the continuing storm soon covered them. All were dressed in black with the exception of one who was not dressed for the cold. He stood on the bank and pointed across the river.

"There."

The other five nodded. One pulled out a pair of binoculars and searched along the far bank.

"It looks deserted...because of the storm as you said."

"We will not be admitted through the gate. We must cross the river."

"How will we cross?"

The leader pointed back to the trunk of the car.

"I have stored what we need."

Two ran back to the car and pulled out three packages. They brought them back and opened them. The others looked in awe.

"You knew."

"I did." Then, the man gave a small smile. "Since I was so fortunate, I will allow you all the blessing of inflating them in preparation for our journey to power."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, one more time, Josh," Tony said. "What exactly did this knife look like?"

"I don't know why you won't believe me."

"Because it sounds like something out of a movie."

"Exactly!" Josh got really excited and jumped up. "I can _show_ you! That's why I picked it up! Because I'd seen it in a movie!" He ran over to his TV and opened one of his cupboards. It was full of DVDs.

"Wow. That's quite the collection."

"I...I like movies," Josh said, shrugging. "The really bad ones, especially. The worse the movie is...the more I like it. You ever watch _Mystery Science Theater 3000_?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter. It's a great show. Anyway, here." He pulled out a DVD and shoved it into the player and cued it up. "See? That's the knife. I mean, it's not exactly the same but it's...it's _close_! Three-sided with the creepy head on top. It wasn't alive though."

"What movie is this?"

"_The Shadow_, starring Alec Baldwin. The knife comes from the Buddhist-type person with the weird voice, the one who trains Lamont Cranston to become the Shadow in the first place. Got it?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, I do."

"DiNozzo, there had better be a good reason why you're watching a movie right now," Gibbs said, standing in the doorway.

"That's the knife, Boss. Or something like that."

Tony looked at it again. A three-sided knife...from a Buddhist monk. There was something crawling around the back of his mind. This had a lot to do with the symbols he'd seen on Sergeant James' body. Why couldn't he remember?

And then suddenly, it clicked and he knew.

"Hey, Boss...I've got it!"

"Got what?"

He looked at Josh who was listening with interest.

"Later. Is there anything else we need to do here?"

"Nope. We'll have to wait until the storm passes to get everything to Abby. We can't run fingerprints, or spectral analysis until we can get everything back to DC...and the snow is already falling."

"Where are you staying?" Josh asked. "Bradshaws'?"

"Yeah."

"You'd better hurry. Once the snow starts to fly, you won't be able to see two feet in front of your face. Everyone holes up during storms like this."

"Thanks for the advice," Tony said. "Maybe I'll borrow a few of your–"

_Thwack!_

"Coming, Boss. See ya around."

"Not until it stops snowing," Josh said. "Hey, what am I going to do about all this mess? Can I clean it up now?"

"Yeah. Go ahead," Gibbs said and they walked out into the snow.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, what is it, Tony?" Gibbs asked as they brushed the snow off their shoulders.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked. "What is what?"

"Upstairs, okay?" Tony said, waving at Martha.

When they got to the privacy of their rooms, Tony told them what Martha had seen 50 years ago and then he smiled.

"I knew I'd seen those symbols on Sergeant James before."

"Symbols?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah, from his forehead down to...as Ms. Bradshaw said, just below his waist." He brought up the images on the laptop. "See? There are seven symbols the psychos carved into his body...and it's not random. They're chakras!"

"How do you know about chakras?" Ziva asked. "I did not think you would care much for Hinduism."

Tony grinned. "Oh, it's not about Hinduism. I dated this girl once...really interesting girl. She was into this stuff."

"What stuff?" Gibbs asked.

"Tantrism, Boss. These symbols are used in tantrism."

"Tantrism _is_ a part of the eastern religions, Tony," Ziva said. "And I am surprised you would say that you had a girlfriend interested in murder."

Tony rolled his eyes. "No...for her it was all about the sex stuff which can get pretty kinky, but this... She told me about it once."

"What?"

"There's a part of tantrism that's...not about sex."

"You know something that is not about sex, Tony?" Ziva asked, smiling.

"Not much, but those symbols are definitely used in tantrism and there's a part of tantrism that's not about the best way to have sex."

"Then, what is it about?" Gibbs asked.

"Ritual sacrifice, Boss."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Gibbs sucked in his breath. _Ritual sacrifice! _There wasn't much left in this world that startled him anymore. He was used to the bizarre and cruel things that one person could inflict on another. But _ritual sacrifice_…That was like something out of the Dark Ages...something best left there.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"Well, I don't know that much about it, boss," Tony said, his hand at the back of his neck. "She—my girlfriend—told me a bit about it, but at the time I was more interested in…well…" He half leered and then straightened his face under Gibbs' cold look.

Ziva smirked and sat down at the laptop Tony had set up. "Let us research, then. I do know that although ritual sacrifice may sound depraved, in the eyes of its followers, it is an important part of religion."

"That's crap," said Tony. "I'm as religiously tolerant as the next person, but as the old saying goes, 'Your right to swing your fist ends where the other guy's nose begins.' _No one _has the right to kill another human being to satisfy some religious ritual."

Gibbs nodded. "Is this really a part of any Eastern religions today?"

"It does not appear to be," Ziva said after a fast few minutes of net searching. "Not condoned. But there are always, in any religion, people who will rediscover the old ways and use them to solve their problems."

"Like what?"

"It is a source of power...a way of harnassing the power of the universe in order to...change things."

"What kind of things?"

Tony's unexpected knowledge came to the fore again. "I know it's supposed to help with infertility...it's that sex thing again."

Ziva's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh...I remember. There was a small village in India about six years ago where a child was taken and killed in order to cure a woman's infertility. She bathed in his blood."

"There was a basin found at the scene," Gibbs said.

"You mean...they were going to do that with Sergeant James?" Tony exclaimed. "And what about the people that Martha Bradshaw saw? There's no way this can be something separate. It has to be about the same thing. Why here? Why the middle of nowhere West Virginia? ...and what are they doing it for?"

"Because it is the middle of nowhere," Ziva said. "Fifty years ago this happened before? Was there any press on it? No. If they had not been interrupted..."

"Who would have known," Tony said without intonation. "No one would have known."

"The area was remarkably clean. They would have left behind only footprints. Even the blood in the snow came from Josh Runyon knocking the basin over."

Ziva's eyes moved back to the laptop screen. "There are still cults scattered throughout the world, mostly in east Asia where tantrism began...and they use a literal understanding of the teachings of tantrism. They are called the Outer Tantras and they believe that one must take in five sacred foods and five others. These are interpreted symbolically by the Inner Tantras, which is the more common group."

"What are these...foods?" Gibbs asked.

"Or do we not want to know?" Tony added.

Ziva's face twisted in disgust. "You do not want to know. The foods are the flesh of cows, horses, dogs elephants...and humans."

"What?"

"The others are excrement, semen, blood, urine and brains."

"Okay, I think that even Abby would find this to be way off the hinky charts," Tony said. "Why do they do it? Why would they be willing to kill Sergeant James? There must be a reason...and how are we going to find them in this storm?"

"I do not know what they want, but I believe I may have found where the idea came from," Ziva said.

"What?"

"The Aghora sect. It is mostly in India and east Asia, but they believe in eating human flesh, drinking from human skulls...and for them it is the search for power, the power that will remove them from the endless cycle of reincarnation."

"How does cannibalism let them do that? ...and why do they want to do that?"

Ziva lifted her eyes from the screen. "They believe that only by freeing themselves from the earthly cycle they can...become one with the absolute. ...and they believe there is no good and evil. So the only way to free themselves is to embrace everything, dark and light. By doing this, they can get more and more power, leading them down into the deepest darkness and through that into the ultimate light. That is what the Aghori do. If these people are the same, I do not understand why they would have waited 50 years."

"Maybe they didn't," Gibbs pointed out.

Tony nodded. "We're only involved because it was a Marine who got killed. Who's to say they haven't taken others and done the same things?"

Ziva closed the laptop lid and turned to face the two men. "Josh Runyon said that one of the men was wearing very little...and that one woman was naked. Perhaps she was to bathe in the blood of Sergeant James. He was obviously important because they took the time to carve those symbols onto his body."

"Not just symbols. Chakras. They're signs of a body's energy."

Ziva looked at Tony speculatively. "They were carved there as a sign or to _create_ the energy?"

"To focus it, maybe?"

"Then, why do it just before he was killed?"

"To get his energy from him...through his blood?"

"What if it was not only his blood they needed? The Aghori eat human flesh...and drink urine. Both have been well-documented, although the flesh they eat is generally bodies they have found dead rather than people they have killed."

"Boss," Tony said, "what if they still...still _need_ his body? These are people who were willing to kill a man and drain his blood...and maybe they've done it before. Do you think they know that Sergeant James' body isn't here anymore?"

"We have no idea who they are," Gibbs said. "I don't think we can assume that they don't know."

"Yeah...and it's not like we were trying to hide it," Tony agreed. "Anyone looking at the street when Ducky and Jimmy took the body out would know. Would they–?"

Ziva finished his thought. "Would they be desperate enough to pursue the body back to DC?"

"And if so...what are they willing to do to get it back?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Ducky and Abby left NCIS, Tim looked to Vance for a signal…was it time for the Persian Gulf conference with whoever in MTAC? (That was, after all, why Vance had asked him to stay.) Waiting much later would put the time out in the Gulf to past midnight. That wouldn't have suited Tim, were he scheduling these things, but who knew what moved the top brass? Vance, however walked away without explanation. Tim then noticed that it was almost 6 o'clock. It seemed a good time to stop and have dinner. He assumed Vance would be doing the same.

Going back up to the squad room, Tim pulled from his desk a container of microwaveable soup. Tony (and Ziva? He wasn't sure) might steal his candy bars or Nutter Butters from his desk, and often did, but they left his soups alone. They all needed real nourishment on late-night work when the Yard food courts were closed and they couldn't agree on a delivery, and so respected each other's protein. Adding to the soup, Tim remembered that he still had a sandwich brought from home, not having suspected this morning that Tony would drag him out to that new Chinese place to bring back lunch for the group.

_If I hadn't gone out, they wouldn't have found out about my walking pneumonia, _he thought with a trace of bitterness. It always irked him to be left behind as if he were always considered to be the most expendable.

Although…collapsing in a coughing fit in the Appalachians, miles from anywhere, would probably not be fun.

He knew that Gibbs was right, more or less, about the team needing to be able to depend on each other; but really, how likely was that to happen? Agents came to work and went out in the field with bad colds, migraines, PMS, lack of sleep due to a new baby in the house…lots of things like that. Yet they just sucked it up because the job had to be done. This was not that much different.

A sudden slap from his conscience made him realize that he, at least, was safe, warm and dry here at HQ, while the team would have a long, hazardous slog back in the snow. They should be back soon…if they didn't head off shortly after Ducky and Jimmy did, they might get stuck somewhere. _Well, surely we'll either see them or hear from them before too long._

He ate his soup—a nice, filling, chicken and wild rice soup—at his desk and then strode to the windows (sandwich in hand) to look out at the storm. Normally the lights of the buildings across the Anacostia would be brightly shining; now, they were just a faint glow in the dark.

It was a powerfully lonely feeling. The strong windows rattled a little bit in the force of the wind. Sometimes Tim could see to the street below; other times a torrent of snow smacked against the windows and visibility was nil for a few minutes until the snow melted and fell off. He could hear the wind, and it was disquieting: rushing down from the heavens; wild and dangerous as if it were a hideous, mythic beast. Eyes of burning coals; unseen but sensed. Breath like the stench of dead things in the cold. No mercy, no regard for life, just a hunger, a need to catch any living beings it could, a hunger, a hunger…

Gulping, Tim backed away from the window, and edged back to his own desk. _Now I'm letting my imagination run off, _he thought in small disgust_._

But he still had an ominous feeling. Something…and he did not know what…was not right.

The soothing effects of the delicious hot soup faded faster than Tim would have liked. Wanting something else hot to ward off the perceived cold, he set a mug of water in the break room microwave. Instant coffee was never as good as the brewed kind, but he was reluctant to brew a pot just for himself. One cup would do him.

Then his phone rang. Tony.

"_Hey, Probie! What're you up to?"_

"Not much. Just made myself a cup of instant."

"_Excellent! That's the line I was looking for!" _To Tim's surprise, Tony started singing.

'_Walking pneumonia, walking pneumonia  
><em>_You'll come a-walking pneumonia with me!'  
><em>_And he sang as he sat  
><em>_and waited while his water boiled,  
><em>'_You'll come a-walking pneumoniaaaaaa with meeeeeeeeee!'_

_Thwack!_

"_Thanks, boss. I've got McGee for you."_

Tim chuckled, amused that he could faintly hear the head slap. "Boss? Where are you guys?"

"_We're overnighting here in Franklin. Storm's bad here."_

"That's smart. The Director has us down to a skeleton crew. I'm still here, of course."

"_Abby? Ducky and Palmer?"_

"They've all gone home. Ducky dropped off Sergeant James' body and then left."

"_McGee, listen. There may be trouble headed your way. The people who did this…we think they're bound up in ritual sacrifices and they've done this before. Tantrism; look it up. They may try to get to NCIS and get the body back."_

"O…kay. No, not okay. Go ahead, boss." Tim swallowed. "…Boss?"

The connection had dropped. Tim tried to dial Gibbs' phone, then Ziva's, then Tony's. All without luck. Their local cell tower must have gone down.

Persian Gulf concerns or not, Vance needed to know about this. Tim headed for the elevator.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance had propped open his office door. With so few people on duty right now, it didn't make much sense to stand on ceremony. Pamela had long since been sent home. Who _was_ still on the premises? He thought about it.

_Agent McGee is the only agent on duty. ...Liza Reinam in Legal. James Dyre and Maria Gonzalez in Intel. Anyone in Cybercrimes? Yes...but not Keating. Who is it? Oh, right...Dallas Wright, the one who nearly grovels at McGee's feet given the opportunity._ Vance smiled thinking of the awe in which Tim was held by the geeks in the sub-basement. _One of the maintenance staff decided to stay as well. Martin... Albert Martin. Said he was going through a nasty divorce and would prefer not to be at his house right now. That's seven all together._

The sound of coughing alerted him to Tim's approach. He leaned over to see out through the open door.

"What is it, Agent McGee?"

Tim came in, still coughing. "Sorry... _cough_... sir... _cough_."

"Did you run to my office, Agent McGee?"

"Yes... _cough_...sir."

"Why?"

Tim finished his coughing fit and then took a deep breath.

"Sorry, sir."

"Just tell me why you decided you needed to run."

The lights overhead flickered. Tim looked up worriedly.

"What is it, Agent McGee?"

"I got a call from Gibbs...about Sergeant James' murder."

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about tantrism, sir?"

Vance blinked. "I'm assuming that there is a point to that question, Agent McGee?"

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion and then his eyes widened in understanding. "Oh... This isn't about sex, sir. ...or at least, I don't _think_ it is."

Vance laughed. "Spit it out, Agent McGee."

Tim looked like he was about to laugh but turned it into a very convincing cough instead.

"I haven't had a chance to look it up yet, but apparently, there's a branch of tantrism that has something to do with ritual murder."

"And they think that Sergeant James was killed for that purpose?"

"Yes."

"When will they be back with their evidence?"

"Not until the storm blows over, Director. They couldn't make it back and are still in Franklin...but they're worried that the people who killed Sergeant James might want to...finish the ritual or something."

"They don't know?"

"If they do they couldn't tell me. The phones cut out while we were talking. Sir, if someone tries to..."

Vance nodded. It seemed like a remote possibility given the severity of the storm.

"All right. The Gulf meeting will have to wait until tomorrow. I'll get word to Yard security. You go and start looking up what you can about this tantrism. I hate to have to retread ground, but without any contact with Gibbs, we'll just have to see what we can find. Any luck tracing James' path from Germany to West Virginia?"

"Some. I found some records of him buying things in Boblingen, mostly souvenir-type stuff judging by the stores. About four days ago, he suddenly showed up in Berlin. That's as far as I got before dinner-time. The phone records are giving me trouble, but I was thinking I'd get them by the end of the evening."

Vance considered. How much time should they spend on the tantrism?

"Okay. Put that search on hold for now and focus on tantrism, getting whatever you can glean from the internet. I'll get things squared away here and join you. We'll see what we can find. If I decide there's a real threat, we'll send the rest of the people on staff down to the shelter-in-place location."

Tim nodded. "Yes, sir." He began to leave.

"And Agent McGee?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't push yourself. The last thing I need is for you to have a serious coughing fit. In this storm, I'm not sure we'd even have access to medical help."

Tim smiled. "I'm really not that sick, Director."

"That cough sounds bad, Agent McGee. Don't push it...or it could _become_ serious."

Tim's smile faded. "Yes, sir. I'll get on that search, sir."

Vance watched Tim go and picked up his phone. He called down to security, found that they were shutting down the entire Yard, only access for personnel employed on the Yard. They were just sending out the food court employees. All non-essential staff was leaving, heading home before all the roads were closed. As it was, many were leaving their cars at the Yard and braving the Metro rather than risk driving on the roads in near whiteout conditions.

The lights flickered again. NCIS had its own emergency generators, of course, but he hoped they didn't have to use them.

Finally, Vance felt ready to head down to the bullpen and aid in the investigation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Kayaks. Yes, that will do," said one of the six on the Anacostia bank. "We shall load them carefully, so they do not tip over. In this weather, the cold river would be unpleasant."

"They will not tip over. You will be careful," said the leader.

As the other five removed the kayaks from their packaging and set up the pumps to inflate them, the leader gazed serenely across the river. He could tell which building housed the body they sought. It was as if it called to him. His sight was also better than the others—he could see the building clearly. Red brick, it was, like many around it. He senses that not many people were in it now. The fighting should be minimal. That was good. He did not want to waste time on unimportant, useless bodies. "If you are finished…" And his people were.

Quietly the two-man kayaks were loaded and launched. The distance was not far, and soon they reached the opposite shore. Pulling the kayaks out of the water and stowing them beneath a dark clump of trees, they then unloaded their materials and in silence trekked to the building marked _WNY #111- Forge Building – Naval Criminal Investigative Service_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Gibbs stared at the cell phone in his hand. "Ya ever think to charge the battery, Tony?"

"It is not the battery, Gibbs," said Ziva, having pulled out her own. "I have no bars, either. The local cell tower must be down. There is still the computer, however…never mind." The internet connection had also been lost.

"We're back in the Dark Ages," Tony muttered, his eyes taking on a trace of mania. "Build up the fire! Close the gates! Keep the creatures of the night at bay!"

"No creature will be out in this weather," Gibbs grunted. "I'm going to go down to see if Ms. Bradshaw will fix us supper for a few extra dollars."

"And if she won't?" Tony rubbed his stomach with some worry.

"Then we'll send you out to hunt a creature for supper."

Martha Bradshaw apologized over and over for the poor excuse for a meal, just some leftovers she threw together. It consisted only of fried chicken, cold beef, sausages, three kinds of bread, corn, beans, mashed potatoes, asparagus, a tossed salad, a fruit salad, Jell-o, cherry pie, mince pie, coffee, soda and tea. "I just didn't think to do shopping before the storm hit."

Tony waved that away. "Is there an NCIS office near here? Boss, I'm putting in for a transfer and renting from Mrs. Bradshaw for the rest of my life!"

Gibbs grinned. "I might join you. Ms. Bradshaw—how long after a storm does it take plows here to clear the roads?"

"Oh, maybe two hours to be drivable, if the storm isn't too bad. Longer if you want to be safer. There's really no telling how bad it can get here in the mountains. And there's drifts to think of, too. Even after the snow stops coming down, it's likely to blow and blow all over, so you may have a clear stretch of road, only to find yourself blocked in a mile later. The blizzard warnings for this storm extend until 6 p.m. tomorrow."

Ziva shrugged. "We should still be back in Washington by midnight tomorrow, then…"

"It'll probably let up hours before then."

"That is even better news."

"No, that's because there's another snowstorm coming hot on its heels. And maybe yet another behind it. Do you folks like to cross-country ski?" Martha Bradshaw asked brightly. "It's pretty popular here."

"Is that the fastest way to get back to Washington?" Tony asked.

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, boss." Tony noticed Ziva surreptitiously looking at her cell phone in her lap. The tiny frown she made told him that there still was no signal.

"Thank you for the delicious meal, Ms. Bradshaw," said Gibbs, rising. "Can we help you clean up?"

"Oh, no no no. Go along with you; I can do it in a wink. You all come down for breakfast anytime after 7."

They all gave their thanks and headed upstairs for the bedrooms…and convened in Gibbs' room.

"I do not like this," Ziva muttered, pacing. "We do not know if McGee understood enough of the warning you tried to give him, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked out at the night, where now and then sleety snow crashed against the window. His eyes had a distant, troubled look that was not caused by the immediate storm. He drew the blinds. "Yep."

"I hate weather! It is the one enemy I cannot fight."

"And that irks you. Something you can't best," Tony said with narrowed eyes.

"Well, what do you think people do here, when they have, ah…cabinet fever?"

"That's _cabin _fever. Given Franklin's history, they probably carve strange tattoos on each other until one of them bleeds to death."

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"Knock it off, both of you. If we can't get a message out to McGee and Vance, we'll just have to trust to their survival skills."

That was a grim way of putting it, but it was true. Tim and the Director were on their own.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim decided that there were some things he could have lived his whole life and not known about. The darker aspects of tantrism had swiftly shot up to the top of the list. Before doing these searches, he had known only vaguely of the meaning...and associated it only with kinky sex. Now, he was seeing something much more sinister in it and he really really hoped that the storm had kept these psychos away...or failing that, that Gibbs was wrong in his warning and they didn't have to worry about crazy people coming after a body during the worst snowstorm to hit DC in years.

"Well?"

Tim jumped. It was only Vance, of course.

"Yes, sir. If Gibbs, Ziva and Tony are right...I don't know, sir."

Vance smiled and pulled up a chair, ignoring the rattling windows that never failed to startle Tim.

"That seems a bit vague, Agent McGee. What have you found?"

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever will get me the important information the fastest, Agent McGee."

"Right. Okay." Tim took a breath. "Tantrism, just as a practice, is an offshoot of Hinduism. It's more esoteric and uses ritual as a way to liberate the...the human spirit, I guess, from the cycle of ignorance and reincarnation. There are a lot of different rituals and different methods. It's hard to give one single definition of what is tantric practice, but they're usually made up of mantras, yantras and worship of Hindu deities."

"Okay. Mantras, being sounds? Like _om_?" Vance asked.

"Yeah. Like that. Yantras...they're the...the instruments? The methods by which the ritual is done."

"That's tantrism, then? And here I thought it was all about sex."

Tim flushed. "Well, a part of the rituals is this use of sex as a form of liberation...but I don't think that's necessarily...something...we have to...talk about...sir."

Vance laughed. "Go on, Agent McGee."

Tim managed a smile. "Okay...so...that's the basic stuff about tantrism...and here's where we start getting into the weird stuff."

Sensing the serious shift, Vance nodded. "What?"

Tim turned his monitor. "Early on in tantrism, there was a separation, two paths by which this liberation from mortality can occur. They're opposites of each other. One follows social conventions and a rule of law, whatever that law may be. The other...it intentionally breaks social conventions with the idea that by embracing everything that is forbidden one can truly be liberated from mortality."

"Everything?"

"A lot of these paths they're not breaking laws necessarily, but societal mores. ...but there is a group that, instead of using the tenets of tantrism symbolically, they follow them literally. They drink blood and urine and consume all sorts of things that...are rather disgusting. The two paths are called _dakshinachara _and _vamachara_. Vamachara is considered the faster path but it's also the more dangerous because of the methods being used...but it can also make one the 'ultimate sovereign', a world ruler."

"Vamachara?"

"Yeah. It's usually translated as the left-hand path. The other is the right-hand path. Both paths can lead to the same thing, just as both hands are connected to the same body. ...but one is much darker than the other."

"You said they drink blood?"

"Some do. I found some stuff. Director, if these people made it here, and are really needing to complete some ritual... They won't be held back by any idea of sanctity of life or reticence about getting their hands dirty. If Gibbs is right, then these are people who use cannibalism as a way of becoming rulers of the world...and these things they do are simply steps along the path to ultimate freedom. There is nothing that is more important than that. Nothing."

Vance sat back and looked at the image of some Hindu goddess standing triumphantly atop another figure, a necklace of severed heads around her neck, weapons in about ten hands. Then, he looked out the window. It was very dark outside, only the blowing snow reflected by a feeble streetlight giving any sort of detail of their surroundings.

"All right. We have people in this building who can't leave, but neither are they qualified to deal with this kind of a threat." He reached over to the phone and dialed for a building-wide PA. "This is NCIS Director Leon Vance. Thank you to all who have chosen or been willing to stay on staff during this storm. There is a minimal risk that we may have unwelcome visitors before we can rely on help reaching us through the storm. Therefore, I am ordering all in the building to gather in the shelter-in-place location and remain there until told that the emergency is over. I repeat: this is an _order_. Report immediately to the shelter-in-place location and do _not_ leave until told it is safe to do so." He put the phone back in its cradle.

"Hopefully, if they stay away from Autopsy, we won't have a problem," Tim said, thinking of the sorry state of the body.

"You should probably join them, Agent McGee."

Instantly, Tim's patience broke. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think that's responsible at all. I'm sick, yes, but that would leave _you_, the director of NCIS, alone and vulnerable. It's a violation of my duties to do so. If there's a group, you'll need the help."

"And if I ordered you to join the others?"

Tim swallowed nervously and considered. Gibbs would, no doubt, be both impressed and annoyed by determined disregard for orders...but Vance... Then, Vance smiled.

"All right, McGee. I won't make you answer that question. Come on. Let's secure the body."

Vance stood and Tim stood as well...

...and the lights suddenly went out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Liza Reinam's hands shook when the Director's PA warning sounded. She was the senior staff person in the Legal Department, divorced, and with no one to go home to. She hadn't minded staying to man the department alone when the others had been sent home on this stormy day. The compensatory vacation time would be nice to have, and a couple of quiet, truly quiet, hours here had helped her get a lot of work done. Still…this latest development was a little more than she'd bargained for. She powered down her computer, put the files she'd had out into her desk drawer, grabbed her purse, turned out the office lights, and locked the door behind her. Only then did she allow herself to shake again…just a little.

The HQ shelter-in-place room was located on the second floor toward the back of the building. It was a boring, fairly large room, sometimes used for meetings, but usually left fallow. Being an interior room, there were no windows, making it a desirable shelter-in-place location.

They'd drilled for it before; at least once a year. The shelter-in-place room was where employees had to go when an emergency made it unsafe for them to stay at their workstations but also unsafe to leave the building. This could be due to civil unrest (such as protestors invading the Navy Yard) or perhaps an attack on the area. No one ever really thought they'd need to go there, but…

"Hey, Liza. Got snacks for us?"

"James! You're always hungry." She smiled at her friend from Intel as they both entered the shelter-in-place. Had she known that the day would turn out like this, she'd certainly have baked something and brought it in. James Dyer, a widower, was back on the dating scene now, and he was pretty nice. Someone would snatch him up soon; it might as well be her.

Altogether, five people gathered in the large room, which seemed cavernous to them now. The aforementioned James was the senior person present and therefore in charge. After locking the door, he motioned everyone to come close.

"No, I don't have a clue to what's going on," he said, "but you know the Director wouldn't have sent us here is there wasn't a threat. I'm sure whatever it is won't last long. In the meantime…pull up a chair, or take to one of the sofas if you want a nap. We have a couple TVs in here, and some computers; entertain yourselves. There's bottled water in the cabinet along the east wall."

"Why isn't the Director joining us?" one woman asked.

"I don't know… Dallas, is it? I'm sure he has his reasons."

"I just find it strange…"

A knock came at the door, and everyone jumped. "Who is it?" asked James, a former Army officer, pulling some courage up through his white hair.

"Henry Twain, security," a deep voice came back. "That you, Mr. Dyer?"

Relieved, James opened the door to the hefty security guard. "Come in, Henry. Did the Director chase you down here, too?"

"More or less, sir. Actually, it's in the company contract. I'm sorry I'm late; I was securing all the entrances. People would have to work really hard to get in here now."

Liza felt a little panic again. "Do you think there's a threat, Henry?"

"Now, how would I know that, Mrs. Reinam? I'm just paid to keep things safe, just in case. Like now, I think I'm going to go keep that maroon-colored sofa safe. It looks like it needs my protection." So saying, he walked away from the group and stretched out on the sofa, putting his hat over his eyes.

James smiled, but deep down he wondered how safe they really would be if intruders were bent on getting in…

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The lights in the windows went out, but they didn't stay out. Only a few moments later, lights came back on, although not as many.

The leader nodded. "Emergency generators. To be expected."

"But will we not have warned them of our approach?"

"Only if they attribute it to us and not to the storm."

"Will they?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Our concern is not whoever will be in our way. Our concern is only to reclaim our property and complete the ritual before it is too late and we have to begin again."

The wind whipped around the small group. Most of them shivered, but even though he was not dressed for the storm, the leader showed no sign of discomfort.

"If they know, they may have locked the doors."

The leader lifted his arm and pointed with one long finger toward a door at the back of the building.

"We will go through that door. It will open to us."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The emergency generators clicked on less than a minute after the lights went out and so the two men headed quickly down to Autopsy, forced to take the stairs for fear of getting stuck inside the elevator. Tim had to stop once to cough loudly. At a look from Vance, he swallowed and continued.

The doors to Autopsy opened automatically as Tim and Vance walked inside.

"Which drawer, Agent McGee?"

"Drawer 103, sir," Tim said, heading over to it. He opened it up and pulled out the dead man. Tim shook his head at the deep oval carved in his forehead and the strangely-detailed flower on the top of his head. It reminded him of something. "Director..."

"Yes?" Vance asked, distractedly. He was looking around Autopsy, trying to decide where to hide the body.

Tim pulled Sergeant James out further and looked at the other carved symbols.

"Sir, these symbols. They're chakras. I saw them while I was doing research."

"And?" He sounded impatient.

"They're symbols of the body's energy." Tim felt sick as he looked at the cuts. "They're a lot deeper than they need to be, probably to get the blood they wanted, but if they were trying to take on his energy this way..."

"Is this going to help us hide the body?"

"No...but..."

"But nothing, McGee. If these people come in force, then we don't need to know about chakras, mantras or yantras. We need to know how to hold them off. Got it?"

Tim flushed. "Yes, sir."

He looked around the room.

"There's nowhere in here...but what if we moved it back into the truck?"

"In the garage?"

"Yeah. It's cold in there, the body won't decompose and they won't think to look in there."

"Maybe."

Tim nodded worriedly. "Yeah. Maybe."

Almost absently, his hand moved to his weapon. It was loaded. He knew that because he'd checked. What if he had to use it? Vance noticed his motion and checked his own gun which Tim hadn't even noticed him pick up.

"Better safe than sorry, Agent McGee," he said, noticing Tim's surprise. "I can't think of anything better. Let's get him moved and hope Dr. Mallard forgives us for intruding."

Tim laughed, but it was a weak laugh at best. He couldn't help looking back over his shoulder at the door to Autopsy, afraid of those automatic doors opening and admitting a group of people whose goal was domination through ritual murder.

"Agent McGee, the gurney?"

"Oh, right, Director." Tim rolled it over and helped Vance carefully move the frozen corpse from the drawer to the gurney. Then, they rolled it to the garage exit and pulled open the door.

...and found themselves face to face with a man dressed in nothing but sandals and a wrap around his waist which fell to just below his knees. There were gold bands around his arms and a series of tattoos running from the top of his clean-shaven head down to his waist.

"As I said. They brought him to us," the man said in a soft voice.

Tim and Vance both started to pull their guns but stopped when they saw five people arrayed behind the man...all armed.

The followers of the left-hand path.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It wasn't often that Abby took off work early. She reveled in the fact that no one at NCIS could do her job as well as she did, and took a small amount of pride in being indispensible. Deep down she knew that wasn't _really _so; there were dozens of people in the country capable of filling her size-10 boots. But she cultivated the perception that NCIS was lucky to have her, and perhaps they were. It meant that she worked long hours to reinforce the notion of her usefulness, which also served to cement her love for her job.

Days when she was sent home because of the weather activated the stubborn streak within her. She should be doing something. Bowling with the nuns was out; in this weather. So was just about anything she usually liked to do.

Abby turned on some music, watched a DVD, and stared out her window at the polka dot pattern of snow falling in the glow of the nearby streetlamp. It was pretty. And a nuisance. You could talk to it, but it wouldn't answer you. She rocked on her heels. _I want people, _she thought, then laughed, as that thought could have been interpreted as coming from the snow. _Bring me people. Raaaoowr!_

Yes, it would be nice to talk to someone…particularly someone who would tell her what was going on. There was a new body in Autopsy; she knew that much. But what was its story? How did the unfortunate person die? What would she be doing right now to help the investigation, if she hadn't been sent home? Ducky hadn't told her anything about the current case on their ride home—_because_ _I didn't think to ask!_—but had mentioned to her that the team was probably still in West Virginia. She didn't like to disturb them when they might be working late hours—amend that; _Gibbs _didn't like her disturbing them—but she could probably get away with texting Tim since he was still at NCIS.

Puzzled, she stared at her phone when a reply didn't come. _What did Vance have Tim doing there, anyway? _She hadn't had time to find out what was what before Vance had hustled her out the door of NCIS, so to speak._ Why am I Last-to-know Abby today?_

Ducky could tell her, no doubt. Right now, however, she was too on edge to listen to one of his round-about tales before he got to the point, if he ever did._ Jimmy! _Yes; Jimmy would do. She called his number.

"_Abby? What's up? Something wrong?"_

"No…at least I don't think so. Not yet."

"_The weather's spooking you, I'll bet. It did that to my grandmother. She would go around her house, closing all the blinds thinking if she couldn't see what it's doing, then it would stop doing it. Sometimes, that worked. Have you closed your blinds? Now, my other grandmother—or was it my great-aunt..?"_

"Jimmy, ix-nay on the andmothers-gray. Listen a minute. Tell me about the current case the team has. The one in West Virginia."

"_What do you want to know? There was one body, which we brought back to NCIS. Rather, Doctor Mallard brought it in. He dropped me off at home first."_

"Was there anything unusual about it?"

"_There were patterns, like tattoos, but not tattoos, on it. Knife cuts, I think."_

"Kinky or hinky?"

"_I don't know."_

"You don't have any pictures you could send me, do you?"

"_Of the body? No, why would I? That's up to the team. Why do you ask?"_

"Because I'm bored and want something to do."

"_Well, if McGee were around, he'd probably use GoToMyPC and get pictures from there. Chances are the team sent him some, electronically. Or, hey! If he's still at NCIS, he can take his own pictures and send them to you."_

"He's not answering the text I sent him," Abby grumbled. "Why didn't he go to West Virginia with them, anyway?"

"_Ziva told me he has walking pneumonia, so he's restricted to desk duty while he recovers."_

"_Pneumonia_! Poor Timmy! That's rotten of Vance to keep him at work while he's sick."

"_It's _walking _pneumonia, Abby. One can still get around with that, as long as one doesn't overdo it. But that's strange that he didn't answer his phone."_

"Do you think something's wrong with him? Like he's fallen and can't get up?"

Jimmy laughed. _"Do you remember those old commercials on TV? 'I've fallen and I can't get up!'" _He said the last bit in an old lady voice.

"Jimmy, this is serious," Abby said, but she was laughing, too. "Should I try calling Vance?"

"_I wouldn't call the Director even if I had evidence that flesh-eating zombies had infiltrated NCIS. The Director scares me."_

"He doesn't scare me that much. Worrying that something's happened to Tim…that scares me."

"_I'm sure McGee's fine. Try calling him again."_

"Okay, Catch you later, Jimster." The feeling of hope lasted about 60 seconds…long enough for her to call Tim, and have no answer. With a sinking heart, she tried calling Vance.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Do not draw your weapons," the man said softly. "You will only die."

Tim looked at Vance who nodded slightly and raise his arms away from his gun. Tim followed suit.

"That was wise."

Two of the group moved smoothly around their leader and disarmed Tim and Vance.

"Search them."

Suddenly, Tim's phone began to signal an incoming text message. He didn't dare try to answer it, not with the guns currently pointed at them. It was Abby's tone, though.

_Why is Abby texting me? Why now?_

"Move back," a man said, brandishing his gun.

Tim stepped back a few steps, hands in the air. A woman walked over, smiling at Tim as she began patting him down. She stood very close to him, never speaking a word, her fingers trailing around his waist as she made sure he had no other weapons.

"Like what you see?" she whispered in his ear.

Tim shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or something else at the moment. She laughed and he felt her pull his wallet out of his pocket and then his phone.

"Timothy McGee. NCIS special agent," she said and then looked at his phone. "Who is Abby?"

"A friend of mine. She works here, but she got sent home because of the storm," Tim said, not wanting these people to start looking around NCIS...and possibly finding the few people who were still here, sheltering in place.

"I see...and how good a friend is she?" the woman whispered, leaning close to him.

The man who had frisked Vance much more briskly, looked at his wallet.

"This is Leon Vance. The director of NCIS."

Tim was relieved when the woman left him alone to look at Vance with interest.

The leader smiled. "We are in august company, my friends...and see, here is what we came for."

Tim and Vance were pushed back further, until their backs touched the wall of drawers.

As they stood watching, the leader opened the body bag, exposing Sergeant James' body fully to the others in the room. The woman walked over, but a frown crossed her face as she touched the symbol over his heart. She looked at the leader.

The leader met her gaze and then closed his eyes and traced the carved symbols from his head down his chest. He shook his head as his hands moved. He opened his eyes.

"It is too late. All is gone."

"It should _not_ be too late," said one of the men guarding Tim and Vance. "What did you do to him?" he demanded.

"We did nothing," Vance said calmly. "He has been given more respect than you ever thought to give. The storm delayed the autopsy and he has been kept in here since his arrival from Franklin."

"You did something!" the man yelled and moved forward threateningly.

"Stop," the leader said. "If it is too late for this man, then we have a perfect opportunity to begin again. Now, while the storm keeps others away. I saw no sign of others. Who else is in this building?"

"No one," Vance said without blinking an eye. "We needed only a skeleton crew on hand during the storm. I had expected the team in Franklin to get back and help us on duty, but they have been stranded there. Agent McGee and myself are the only people in the building."

"Is this the truth?" the woman asked...but she didn't ask Vance.

"True enough. They are the only people we will see here. They are representatives of the Navy. They will suffice."

"Which one?"

Tim blinked and stiffened as he suddenly realized what they were talking about.

_One of us...instead of Sergeant James._ He felt sick, but tried to stay as calm as Vance appeared to be.

"He is the director. That is a powerful position."

"Powerful enough?" the woman asked, looking at Vance speculatively.

"I am the head of a federal agency with representation worldwide," Vance said, as calm as ever.

The leader smiled and walked over to Vance. He pulled a strange-looking knife from the belt of one of his followers. It had three sides and an evil-looking head for a hilt.

"Wait!" Tim said, not even realizing he had planned to speak.

"What?"

"He's not a good choice," Tim said.

"Quiet, Agent McGee."

"No, speak. Why? Would you consider yourself a better sacrifice?"

"Yes," Tim said, not looking at Vance, trying not to remember what had been done to Sergeant James, how horribly he had died. "Yes, I would be."

"Why?"

Pulling out the information he'd just gathered about chakras and the vamachara, Tim tried to calm his heart as he began to lay out the reasons why he would make a better human sacrifice than Vance...hardly believing that he was doing it.

"You want to drain the power of the Navy out through the _prana_ of your sacrifice. You chose Sergeant James because he was a Marine, a man who had years of service, who was a good example, the...the epitome of a member of the U.S. Navy." Tim felt his hands shaking. "My family has been in the Navy almost since there _was_ a Navy in this country. At least one member of the McGee family in every generation going back to the 1800s. I have the blood of decades of loyal Navy men in me. Director Vance is just the leader of an agency. I have the past in me as well."

"I was a Marine," Vance said.

"For only a few years," Tim said. "I am not a member of the Navy now, but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone with more background. I would be a much better choice."

The leader looked at them both, Tim could almost _feel_ his consideration of the choice, as if he was indeed weighing the strength of their individual chakras, deciding which bore more of the Navy's strength inside them. Then, once again, he raised the frightening knife and approached. ...and stopped right in front of Tim.

He extended the point of the knife to Tim's forehead and then pressed it hard against the space between Tim's eyebrows. Tim was trembling now.

"No!" Vance said and moved...and was instantly restrained by two of the others. Tim felt the vibrations when they slammed him against the wall.

Tim closed his eyes, unable to meet the gaze of the leader of this crazy group of fanatics.

Then, abruptly, the man stepped back.

"Yes. He will do. We must prepare. Restrain them both. Then, join us." He walked away.

Tim sagged with relief and then stiffened again as they pulled out handcuffs and cuffed both Tim and Vance to the drawers, one wrist on one drawer and the other on another. Then, they walked out of the room.

"Are you out of your mind, McGee? What were you thinking?" Vance whispered furiously. "Being my backup does not include offering yourself up as a sacrifice!"

A small trickle of blood ran down Tim's face from the knife's point and Tim began coughing as he nearly hyperventilated with the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush.

"Are you all right?"

Tim forced a laugh. "I'll survive...long enough for them to cut me up."

On one of the tables, Vance's phone began to spin around, vibrating and ringing. They both looked at it longingly.

"Abby, you think?" Tim asked, still gasping a little.

"More than likely."

"Too bad she didn't call a little earlier."

There didn't seem to be much to say in response to that.

"What were you thinking, McGee?" Vance asked again.

Tim looked toward the door to the elevator where they were all gathered and then he looked at Vance.

"Director...I was thinking that...I'm not qualified to rescue us. You have a much better chance of being able to save one of us. If you're the one sacrificed, then, we'll both probably die. If I get sacrificed...then, you're more likely to be able to save at least yourself...if not both of us."

Tim coughed again.

"...and...sir...I _really _hope you can save me."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dallas Wright, from NCIS' Cybercrimes department, sat on a couch and twisted her hands. "We've been here a long time, you know," she said to no one in particular. "You'd think someone would bring us word."

"Who would that be?" asked Albert Martin, the maintenance worker. "Only one beyond these walls is the Boss himself."

"Bruce Springsteen is out there?" Security guard Henry Twain said, his hat still over his face but his smile visible as he remained stretched out on his chosen couch. He was aware of Martin's seeming inability to retain anyone's name.

"No, the Boss! The man in charge. The Director."

"Oh. Well, he's not alone. Someone's got to defend the Director. He's got Agent McGee with him."

"Agent McGee!" Dallas' eyelids fluttered. "Well, that's nice. So very nice." She pulled her compact from her purse and checked her makeup, deciding then to freshen her lipstick.

Liza Reinam frowned at her and then turned back to James Dyer, with whom she'd been playing cards. "It does seem a bit long to be without word, James. Should we call Vance?"

"I think he's too talented to just forget about us, Liza. He'll let us know when the threat has passed."

"You're not _scared _of calling the Boss, are you?" Martin sneered. "Mister In-Charge?"

"James is being sensible; that's all," retorted Maria Gonzalez, defending her Intel coworker and friend. "Oh, by the way, his name is _James_. Not _Mister In-Charge_."

"Thanks, Maria," James laughed, and hoped the tension would diffuse.

"_I _could call Agent McGee!" Dallas said, cheerfully. "I have his number in my phone directory!"

"Of course you do," said Liza.

"He's not answering," Dallas sighed, a moment later. "Sometimes, when he's out in the field, I'll call and listen to his voice mail recording, just to hear his voice…"

"Too much information," said James. "Who wants to join me in rummaging for snacks? I think there might be some non-perishables stored in here somewhere. Maybe in those crates in the far corner."

"I would, but I might break a fingernail," said Dallas. "Agent McGee might come by, and I want to look nice."

"Did you ever read _Lord of the Flies _in school?" asked Maria quietly, as she joined James and Liza on the snack search. "Who will be the first here to die in our group?"

"Oh, do we get to choose?" Liza said with a wink.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim and Vance were left, cuffed to the autopsy drawers, for quite some time while their captors had some sort of quiet meeting.

_Deciding how best to carve more symbols into my body, I guess,_ Tim thought.

"What's that noise?" Vance asked, suddenly.

Tim flushed as he realized he was grinding his teeth.

"Uh...nothing, sir."

Vance looked over at him quizzically. "What was that nothing, then?"

"I...used to grind my teeth, sir...when I was tense."

"Used to?"

Tim grimaced and wished for the hundredth time that he could wipe the blood off his face. Not only did it itch, he was sure he looked incredibly silly...but it more than likely would be even worse if he started scrunching up his face in an attempt to stop the itching. Oh, the things they didn't tell you about being held hostage.

"Apparently, I still do, Director."

"In the circumstances, I think you can drop the formal titles...Tim. We've been captured by a psychotic cult and you're on tap to be sacrificed. I think we're a bit beyond formalities."

"Yes...sir...Vance...Leon." Tim felt his face heat up in embarrassment.

"Of all the things that should make you worried, Tim, I would think that using my given name wouldn't be high on the list."

"Maybe not. I'm...too well trained to respect authority, I guess."

"That stuff you told them. Is it true?"

"About my family? Yeah, we're Navy people. About what I said they were doing? I can only guess that I was. I'm sure they would have told me if I wasn't. It was that chakra stuff I was starting to tell you about before. They're using the symbols as a way of gathering all his energy and then...siphoning it off into one of them. I'm guessing the woman who searched me."

"Why?"

"She's the one who seemed most interested in which of us was chosen...and she's the one who touched Sergeant James. No one else did, except for their leader."

"True."

Tim heard a few clinks as Vance tested the cuffs. They were as secure as they had been the last ten times he had tried it, but Tim didn't say anything. He himself could only seem to think of how much agony Sergeant James must have been in as he died, as they carved him up.

_And he was naked, too,_ Tim thought to himself. _Great. My last moments in this life are going to be spent naked and bleeding to death. Great._

"Tim, stop it."

He was grinding his teeth again.

"Sorry, sir. Leon."

"What do you think? Will they do it here?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem...symbolic enough, does it?"

"With the way their leader is dressed and how much they defer to him, to whatever he says is truth? I doubt it is. Is there anything you know about where they might decide to do this thing?"

Tim swallowed, Sergeant James' horrible demise again welling up in his mind.

"Tim! Focus!"

"Sorry. Uh...There was something. The...the charnel ground."

"That sounds pleasant."

"Usually, it's a place where bodies are taken and left for putrefaction. It's often attached to cemeteries and crematoriums in India. It's also the place where members of the left-hand path will gather for rituals and dances. Because it is a place of death and decomposition, it's also a place where there are no social restrictions. Anything goes."

"There's nothing like that anywhere around here," Vance said. "I can't imagine them trying to find someplace in or around DC with the storm still going. No matter how divorced they seem to be from reality, they'll have to deal with snow-clogged roads and blizzard conditions. No, they'll find something close by. If not in Autopsy, then where? If a charnel ground is a place for decomposition to occur, wouldn't this be fitting?"

"But there are rules here for dealing with death," Tim said. "I mean...I have no idea, but I just think that they won't do it here."

"I'll take your word for it. You know more about it than I do."

"I don't know very much."

"I know less...and I'm sorry that I cut you off, Tim. I should have let you finish. Turns out what you knew was pretty important."

"Yeah...to make me a perfect subject for human sacrifice." Tim smiled shakily. "So...any bright ideas about how we're going to get out of this? Preferably, both of us?"

"Not just yet. I'll have to see where they take us first."

"Okay." Tim knew he shouldn't be disappointed by that, but he couldn't help it. Having put himself in their hands, he kind of hoped that Vance would have some brilliant idea already.

"If it comes down to us running for our lives, Tim, will you be able to do it?"

Tim took an experimental deep breath, felt the tightness in his chest. He tried to smile.

"If it comes down to running for my life or...or ending up like Sergeant James...I'll be able to do it. I can run as long as I need to."

"Okay. I may not be as _hoo-rah_ as Gibbs is about my time in the Marines, but I still don't like to leave a man behind. Remember that, Tim."

Tim felt unaccountably comforted by that simple statement. "I will...Leon."

"Good."

The door opened and one of the group approached them. He had a small bowl filled with...something. Tim wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. The leader followed behind. There was an air of ceremony.

_We can't be doing it already. Can we? I'm not ready to die!_ Tim was screaming in his head but made no outward motion.

"What's going on?" Vance demanded.

The woman backhanded him.

"You will _not_ interrupt."

Then, she knelt on one side of Tim while the leader knelt on the other. Tim noticed that the leader had left bloody marks on the floor on the path he had taken.

The woman took out a conventional knife, Tim's own knife, actually, and cut off his shirt. He swallowed as the man held out the bowl. The leader dipped his finger in the bowl and then, using what Tim had to admit was more than likely the leader's own blood, traced marks on him from the crown of his head on down. He closed his eyes and tried not to grind his teeth again, not even when they pulled off his shoes, socks and pants, leaving him only his boxers for modesty.

Then, it was over. The group stood and walked away, turning off all but one light as they did so. One man took up a position by the door, but the rest of them lay on the ground, apparently intending to sleep. Only the leader remained upright, seated in a lotus position, a faint smile on his face as he met Tim's gaze.

"We will begin when the time is right," he said softly and closed his eyes.

"Tim?"

Vance's voice didn't draw Tim's eyes. He felt humiliated at his current position, half naked and marked with another man's blood. It was...horrible.

"Yeah?"

"Feel free to grind your teeth."

Tim laughed softly.

"I think I'm beyond that now."

"What comes after that?"

"I'm all for whimpering in terror."

"I don't leave my men behind, Tim. That includes you. We're both getting out of this or neither of us are. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Believe it?"

"I'm trying to."

"Good."

There were a few minutes of silence.

"So am I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Another gust of wind rattled the windows, bringing Tony out of the light doze into which he'd fallen. He couldn't claim to have slept at all up to now. Sitting up in the comfy bed he had claimed for himself, he had to admit that he was worried. Worried about Tim and Vance and anyone else who might still be back at NCIS. He was worried about what might happen should the crazy people who had killed Sergeant James decide they needed to retrieve the body.

He heard a quiet footstep outside his door and quickly walked over, pulling the door open wide, gun in hand.

Ziva stood, smiling at his dramatic pose.

"I did not think you would be asleep."

"Why aren't you?"

"For the same reason you are not, I would guess."

"Which is?"

"You are worried about what you cannot change."

"Anyone ever tell you that you talk like a self-help program?"

"Besides you?"

"Sure."

"I do not believe so."

Ziva raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Tony nodded and moved away from the door, turning on the light as he walked back into his room. The window rattled again, the sound accompanied by the snow spattering against the glass.

"I do not like that there is no way to communicate with NCIS," Ziva said candidly.

"I don't, either. I mean, it's silly to think that the murderers would really go back to NCIS just to get a body...especially in a blizzard."

"Silly, yes...but impossible? It is not, and that is why you and I are both worried."

"Yeah."

One of the floorboards creaked out in the hallway. The two agents looked over toward the open door and were moderately surprised to see Gibbs come into view.

"Hey, Boss. Can't sleep either?"

Gibbs walked in without answering. He looked at them both and then out at the storm.

"They went to the trouble of getting that knife back," he said, almost as if there had been no cessation in their previous conversation. "There's no reason for them to hang around here after they got it. The body was on its way back to DC."

Ziva nodded. "It is true, but would they risk it?"

"What do _you_ think?" Gibbs returned.

Tony answered, giving the reason they were all awake when it was past one a.m.

"If they could, they would. What we don't know is if they did."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

In his cozy brownstone in Georgetown, Ducky felt warm, if not entirely secure. The strange markings on the latest Autopsy guest kept entering his mind, despite his efforts to chase them out. _I am on my own time, now. I am not paid to speculate after hours. Relaxation is what keeps the soul limber; not work-work-work!_

He picked up the book he had started last week and sat beside his fireplace, a fine cup of tea close at hand. But still, reading about the First World War could not hold his attention. He nibbled a biscuit; one of a British type his supermarket imported. Even after so many years in the US, he missed the little reminders of Home, as he still thought of Scotland.

There was an interesting pattern stamped onto the biscuit, and he studied that. Whirls and stars of many points, and…_chakras_. That was it. That was what he had seen on the unfortunate young Sgt. James' body. He pursed his lips. It was not a thing that one expected to find in the West Virginia Appalachian Mountains, but then the world was shrinking every day. Forty years ago, would he have been able to find these biscuits in his store? He thought not.

People feared what they did not know. Ducky didn't fear the practices of any religion; he soberly respected that which he did not believe in. But torture and murder of innocents…that went beyond the worthy gains of any respectable religion. There was right and there was wrong, and this was very, _very _wrong.

"I should go into NCIS," he said aloud; a habit he had taken up in his empty house after his mother had gone to the rest home and her blasted Corgis had found a new home. He didn't think it amiss. It was his house, to do with as was his wont. "I need to look at the files. Buried in there is a case…similar, perhaps…"

He broke off, arguing with himself in his mind. It was already late, and the snow was still coming down. It could all wait until morning.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Hours passed. Tim and Vance ached in their uncomfortable positions. Then…

"It is time." The leader's low-pitched voice carried across Autopsy, from the doorway where he rose with his group of followers to the wall of drawers where Tim and Vance were handcuffed. "We will begin."

_The beginning of the end, _Tim thought with horror, and then tried to will calm and strength into his system. He knew that in a panicked state, his ability to escape would be next to nil. With his mind focused, however…well, he'd at least be open to possibilities. Nonetheless, he didn't meet Vance's eyes.

"Easy, Tim," Vance whispered, as if reading his mind. "I fully intend to get out of this, and I'm sure you want to, too. I've got a wife and kids counting on me to come home."

That cheered Tim a little. _Don't just think of yourself. Think of the ones who are counting on you to stay alive. Mom, Dad, Sarah_…

His thoughts ended there as a strong, gloved hand grabbed his right wrist roughly and held it tight, stretched out, in order to open the handcuff. Tim didn't have to speculate that attempting anything now would not be wise. There were too many of these tantrist followers around, and his left wrist was still…Before he could finish that thought, another man had opened the handcuffs on his left wrist and quickly secured both of his hands behind his back.

"Why do we need both?" asked one of the men. "One more to guard, needlessly. We have the strength in this one."

Tim then risked a glance at Vance, still handcuffed to the drawers. He felt a pang of pity for the man. _If I have to die, why should the Director have to witness that gruesome scene? _Again, he forced himself not to succumb to despair. _We'll get out of this. We will. We have family depending on us._

The leader spoke. "We will take both. It is in my vision." He signaled that Vance should freed from the drawers.

"Where are we taking them?"

"I have sensed a place that will suffice. It is not far. A place of symbolic power for the Navy, here…a ship…"

Now Tim and Vance did lock eyes, appalled. The _USS Barry _as a site for a sacrifice!

In peculiar kindness (if it could be called that), Tim was unhandcuffed long enough to put his clothes back on. Perhaps the tantrists feared that he might fall down, dead, before getting to the Barry in the snowstorm if he was clad only in his boxers. He had a fleeting thought that he really, _really_ should have just stayed at home today with his walking pneumonia. _Next time I won't be so anxious to come in…next time. _

They were marched out of Autopsy, up the ramp, and out of the building. Snow swirled around them in the bitter cold. It was deep enough now that their shoes sank completely in it, adding the indignity of wet socks to their ordeal.

Vance and Tim knew that there were no guards, no staff on the Barry at night. At one time, there had been. Thank God for budget cuts. No point in having anyone else in danger. This didn't mean, though, that the Barry was defenseless. To ward against troublemakers who might get into the Yard, the gangplank had a heavy chain at the pier end, and there were alarms on the ship itself.

Would that be enough? If the alarms were tripped, would that bring anyone? Even a snowstorm would not shut down the Navy Yard. There were always people here. Maybe someone would come.

If they heard. If they decided to investigate.

"Good ship," Vance murmured. "Good ship. Take care of us, girl."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As the storm swirled snow wildly around them, Tim began to wonder what was taking them so long. They'd been standing outside for ten minutes...waiting. Not that he was in any _hurry_ to get to the site of his sacrifice, but it was _cold_ out here. There was a reason why DC had battened down the hatches as the storm came through. Then, one of their captors joined them with a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. The leader gestured and he stepped forward and cut the heavy chains blocking their access.

Where had the bolt cutters come from? Had they brought them along?

_How did they know?_ Tim asked himself.

Then, one of the men hurried up the gangplank and vanished from view. Tim began shivering in the wind and snow, but he noticed that the leader, wearing nothing to protect him from the elements, seemed completely unperturbed by the storm. Considering the fact that he led a group of psychotic murderers, it was strange that he could put off an air of serenity and acceptance of anything that might come to him. Tim was almost envious.

The man returned to the group and nodded. The leader gestured and then headed forward onto the ship. Tim and Vance were prodded to follow and walked up the steep gangplank into the area normally used to begin the tour. Tim had gone on the tour before and enjoyed seeing all the parts of the ship. Now, however, he only wished that he was home in bed. The sights held no enjoyment for him.

They paused in the first room. Tim's handcuffs were removed and he again was stripped. Only this time they didn't even leave him his boxers. He was stark naked. Tim felt utterly humiliated at the prospect of being naked in public. The woman who had searched him before, looked him up and down with a lustful smile on her face. Tim flushed and looked away. It was bad enough that he had to stand here nude, but to be so openly appraised...

"He will do," she said in a low voice, barely audible above the sound of the wind. "He will do very well."

The leader joined the woman and put his hand over Tim's heart, fingers spread wide, eyes boring into Tim's.

"Yes. He is a worthy substitute. We must not begin here. Come."

Tim was cuffed once again. During all of this, Vance had remained silent, almost docile. Tim didn't dare look at him. Yes, he was relying on Vance to get them out of this, but his embarrassment kept him from making eye contact. He could only hope that Vance had a plan in mind.

_I sure don't._

The group moved forward again, out into the snow, onto the deck. For a wild moment, Tim wondered if they would be taking the tour before the human sacrifice. ...but no, they bypassed going below decks, choosing instead to cut the chains and ropes directing the tour, making their way slowly to the front of the ship, breaking through the drifts of snow forming on the starboard side. Tim's bare feet felt numb and his whole body shook with the cold. He actually felt relieved when they broke into the bridge. He was still freezing, but at least he was out of the wind.

"The other must be restrained."

The soft order garnered instant obedience. Tim looked at Vance for the first time since coming aboard. He was expressionless as they dragged him to one of the support poles and cuffed him securely with his hands behind his back.

Too securely. Tim couldn't see how they would get out of this.

"Now, release the sacrifice."

Tim felt the cuffs removed and his hands, feeling like lead weights, dropped to his sides. He wasn't panicked now. He felt so terrified that his mind was as numb as his toes.

The leader came and stood before him, drawing Tim's eyes almost irresistibly to his own. Tim seemed to fall into those eyes, forgetting to tense as two of the men grabbed his arms and held him tightly, forgetting to be embarrassed by his current state of undress...forgetting everything but the power of those eyes.

"Through you, we draw the power of those who rule the waters. Through you comes the strength of the sea."

The voice seemed to echo inside his head. Somehow, Tim found himself nodding silently in agreement.

"Good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance watched with growing worry as Tim's body grew slack. He'd heard of the idea of mesmerism and people who knew how to bend a mind to their will, but this was the first time he'd ever seen it happen. It was different from the stage hypnotists who used their abilities to entertain. The minutes lengthened as the leader maintained eye contact with Tim, speaking almost inaudibly to him, never looking away from him. Tim had resisted it briefly but had slowly stopped resisting. He seemed almost somnolent as they positioned him facing the window. All attention was now on the bizarre scene taking place. Vance sensed that he was completely forgotten. Every one of the tantrists were focused on the leader and on Tim. Vance might as well be part of the furniture.

They would only have one shot at this...and if Tim didn't break out of this trance or whatever, it would be hard to save him. It was going to be hard enough with it six to two. Still, what did they have to lose? Tim would die rather painfully and Vance was under no illusion about what they would do to him. He didn't have any idea why they'd brought him along anyway. However, since they had...

He began shifting his watch around his wrist. Smart these people might be, prepared, well-armed...but they didn't know how to put on handcuffs. He could easily undo his watch and use it to pick the lock, something he still remembered from his more classified days. Keeping his eye on his captors...and on Tim who was still standing blankly while the others clustered around him... Vance began to carefully arrange his hands to best aid him in getting free.

He wanted to rush, but he couldn't risk dropping his watch...and he still wasn't quite sure how all this would work. He was unarmed. Tim was completely naked. Their captors were armed...and almost all of them well-clothed. The one who wasn't didn't seem to mind...unlike Tim who would likely mind quite a bit about running naked in the storm.

"Hold him," the leader said and turned around, away from Vance. When he turned back, he again had that strange knife in his hands.

"Why...doing this?" Tim mumbled, clearly fighting against the trance.

_...but that doesn't make sense,_ Vance thought, momentarily distracted. _People can't be hypnotized against their will, can they? They have to be willing, don't they? ...and Tim wouldn't be willing to give in to these guys._

"We will stop the cycle for us...and through us for all who are waiting. One death means nothing."

"Not...just...one."

"True, but it is true enough not to be a lie. Your death gives us the power to break the power of the world, bend it to our will. We use that power to free ourselves from the karmic cycle."

It was all true, Vance realized. What Tim had told him about the Left-Hand Path and their ultimate goals sounded insane, but it was true.

He redoubled his efforts to pick the lock on his cuffs. It wasn't the picking that was hard. It was getting the tongue of his watch to the hole that gave him some difficulty.

"Crazy..." Tim said and made a slight effort to move...he failed.

"Perhaps we are, but we will be free, no longer prisoners to mortal life. It is worth insanity to be free."

_A-ha!_ Vance triumphed silently as he found the keyhole and began to pick the lock. His fingers remembered what to do and he was free in seconds. He made sure that the cuffs made no sound after the welcome soft click.

_Okay, I'm free...but Tim isn't. Have to get him away, but will he be able to run?_

"You will feel the power gather within you," the leader said. "We will center it within you and draw it out with your blood. It will become fixed inside us."

"No," Tim said and pulled away, just a little.

"You have the strength inside you as you claimed. You will have more." He smiled. "Briefly."

Vance saw Tim begin to feebly struggle against those who were holding him. That gave Vance more hope. He looked at the man and woman nearest to him. Both were armed, but neither were paying attention to anything but the ceremony. All but the leader and the woman who seemed designated to receive Tim's blood began to chant softly, swaying to some unheard rhythm.

Then, Vance knew he could no longer take the time to plan. The leader, who had moved almost languidly up to this point suddenly attacked as swiftly and silently as a snake, striking at Tim's chest with the knife in his hand. Tim's lassitude vanished and he screamed and fought against the arms restraining him. Vance couldn't see what was being done, but based on what he had see on Sergeant James, he was certain that it had to be stopped as soon as possible if Tim was going to live to see another day.

Tim managed to wrench one of his arms away from his captors, suddenly a lot stronger than he had been before.

This was the moment. No more waiting.

Vance picked out two targets and a convenient weapon, tensed and then moved...and gave Tim the only notice he could.

"Semper fi!" he shouted and lunged forward, inwardly praying that this would work.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Gibbs came alert at the first tap at his door. Instinctively, he reached for his SIG, which was under his bed, as always, when he traveled. Then he relaxed, but kept it in his hand.

He opened the door. Ziva stood there, fully dressed, as was Tony. "We want to go back to DC now, Gibbs," Ziva said. "I am worried. McGee and his pneumonia…the Director with no one hale there to protect him…"

"I know Ms. Bradshaw said breakfast would be ready at 7, but it's after 6:30 now and I can hear her puttering downstairs, so maybe…" Tony said wistfully.

"Well, give me 10 minutes to get dressed," said Gibbs. "No point in a long trip back without some breakfast first."

Ms. Bradshaw was willing to feed them early, although her apologies for the poor, "unfinished" meal filled the dining room. She could only give them eggs, sausage, French toast, home fries, yoghurt, oatmeal and juice; lamenting that fresh bread was still an hour away, and wouldn't they like to wait for that? Tony was tempted—the aroma from the bread machine was a siren call—but even he agreed that they couldn't wait.

"The sheriff came by earlier; said the highways are rough, but not impossible," Ms. Bradshaw added, helping herself to oatmeal. "People mostly stayed off the roads last night, and the plows were able to do their job. Even the mountain roads are mostly passable with four-wheel drive. You be careful on the side roads and the ramps, hear?"

Dawn was near when they set out, although they were glad for the film of clouds in the sky that would keep the sun on the snow from blinding them. The roads were a little slick, but manageable. Gibbs had Tony drive while he kept trying to get a phone connection.

Traffic was light, but no one was moving terribly fast. "I hate not knowing what is going on," Ziva growled from the back seat. "We are not going fast enough."

"There's more than one way to get to the Morgue quickly, Zee-vah, and I don't want to get there that way," Tony shot back.

"Still no signal, Gibbs?"

"D'you see me talking on the phone, David? Look around you—at the properties we're passing. Not a light on in them. Must be a wide-spread power outage. Including cell towers."

Tony flicked on the radio, something the group rarely did when they worked, since they couldn't agree on a station. There was a fair amount of static, and he glommed onto the first working station he found.

"…_WUCQ, 87.1 in Petersberg, Virginia. We're glad to have power when so much of the area north does not. This is Happy Happy Dave Danvers, bringing you all the hits—"_

Gibbs hit the off button. "Try again, DiNozzo. Find something closer to DC, with a little less…happiness."

"Less happiness. Got it…Uh, boss; what are we looking for from the radio?"

"News of murderous attacks? Trouble at the Navy Yard?"

"That would be good and bad, wouldn't it, boss? Good because if it makes the news, someone would already be there, investigating. Bad because…never mind." He braced for the _thwack!_ which never came.

Instead, Gibbs just turned up the volume on the radio.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After his shout of warning, Vance grabbed at a loose panel and threw it like a frisbee at his target. It caught him right in the head and he went down, a deep gash in his scalp. Vance was following right behind his artillery and had disarmed the man before he hit the ground. He felt much more confident with the weapon in his hand and he fired at two of the other members before he felt he could even glance at Tim.

...and Tim was standing alone, still looking bewildered...and much the worse for the wear. There were copious amounts of blood running down his bare chest, but the two men who had been holding him captive were on the ground, the woman was as well...but the leader had vanished...and that strange knife was in Tim's hand. Vance didn't bother waiting to find out how Tim had managed to do that. Instead, he ran to him, grabbed his arm and hustled him off the bridge...and out into the snow. They ran...or they _tried_ to run. The snow was piled high in drifts all over the deck and Tim started coughing with the first inhalation of the frigid air. He staggered against Vance who was hard-pressed to keep them both upright in the wind. But it wasn't the wind that surprised him.

It was the sun. He and Tim both squinted in the morning light. Where had daylight come from? Had all this really lasted the whole night? Still, it was freezing in the wind and they were not equipped to deal with another attack, especially not Tim who started to wheeze as they struggled through the snow.

"I've got you, McGee," he said, shouting over the wind. "You can lean on me."

Vance hurried Tim to the gangplank and then was dismayed to see that it was no longer there. The entrance gangplank was up, but the exit was not. Was it the storm or something else? Vance didn't know, but it meant a scramble back to the beginning and they had to get going. There was barely room for both of them abreast, and Tim kept slipping in the snow. Forward, forward. Not fast enough but as fast as they could both manage.

"Free...zing..." Tim gasped out just before another coughing fit had him leaning heavily against Vance who continued forward. His only comfort was that, no matter how well-dressed their captors might be, even they would take time to get through the snow.

"I know. Just keep moving. We'll get you inside."

Together, they climbed over one of the bars and then forced their way through a plastic covering and back to the gangplank. Vance saw Tim's clothes in the entranceway but he didn't dare stop, not even to pick anything up. It was too much of a risk when he had no idea where their captors were and what they were doing.

"Come on, Tim. We don't have far to go. Just across Willard Park. Let's go."

Vance slung one of Tim's arms over his shoulders and put one of his own arms around Tim's back to support him as they hurried down the slippery gangplank. Tim had the hand holding the knife to his chest, the blood still bright red and flowing. Vance thought that it didn't look life-threatening...and he hoped he was right. The worst injuries on Sergeant James had been his head and his neck. The others had been deep but not necessarily fatal.

Tim slipped badly on the gangplank, falling down, and dragging Vance down with him, but they were up again and slip-sliding down to the pier. At the bottom, they again struggled forward, against the wind, through the drifting snow.

Tim's wheezing sounded worse than ever and he was coughing every other breath as they ran. Hopefully, once they were indoors, in the warmth, he'd be fine in that respect.

Tim looked back once.

"Don't...see them...coming," he gasped.

"Good," Vance said, feeling a bit tired himself what with having to drag Tim along through the snow. "Maybe we bloodied them enough that they'll have to stop to lick their wounds."

And then, Vance heard what gave him the most hope for Tim's current state.

"Yeah...l-literally."

Vance laughed and redoubled his pace, trying to ignore how bad Tim's breathing sounded and just get them inside...and to relative safety.

At Willard Park, they were forced to slow down even more to get around the cannons and through the large drifts that had piled up overnight.

Then, to the relatively open space of Sicard Street...and unfortunately, around the back to the same door they'd been taken from. The front doors would be locked and Vance didn't want to give their captors a free entrance to the rest of the building. Best to keep their attack, if and when it came, confined to one entrance.

Through the garage and back into Autopsy. Tim sagged to the floor, unable to stay upright any longer, he coughed harshly and tears of pain coursed down his cheeks. Vance looked around for some scrubs or anything to put on Tim. Quickly, he pulled off his coat and looked at the shaking figure on the floor.

...and Tim looked pretty pitiful at the moment. Besides the obvious knife wounds on his chest and abdomen, his skin was red and raw from the wind, but his face was horribly pale...and his feet were bloody from running through the snow. Vance crouched on the floor and helped Tim sit up so that he could better wrap the coat around him. Tim was still wheezing and coughing, but he managed a faint smile at Vance's actions.

"What...time is it?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I dismantled my watch to get the cuffs off."

"I guess...it doesn't..." Another coughing fit. "...it doesn't matter."

"No. Probably not. I'd better get that door secured."

Tim nodded wearily and continued to shake with the cold, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to keep his remaining body heat in his body.

Vance turned toward the door when it began to open.

Instantly, he raised his gun, ready to fire on the invaders.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When morning came, Ducky looked out on a clear blue sky. The plowing service had plowed his driveway, and the news reported that the main roads were okay. There was a caution, though, that another storm would move in later in the day. _I shall get in, do a little work, and then go back home. It's Saturday; there won't be too many people coming to work. I can get paid for overtime_.

That was a cheerful thought. Almost as cheerful as the notion of just staying home…but no; the sergeant needed to be attended to, and those thoughts of chakras would not let him be if he didn't get some answers now.

He arrived at NCIS around 9 a.m. The NCIS parking garage was almost totally empty, although other parts of the Yard showed life. There went a Bobcat, plowing a sidewalk. In front of the Navy Museum, men were shoveling snow by hand. The air was crisp, cold, and very still. Here and there clumps of snow that had lain on the tops of branches lost their hold and fell to the ground. Vapors from steam pipes rose white and straight into the sky. It was a beautiful winter day.

Walking around to the front entrance, Ducky found the sidewalks plowed clear, so there was no way of telling how many people had come in yet that day. But the automatic doors did not open, to his surprise. He peered in, but could not see a guard on duty, much less anyone else.

Puzzled, he racked his mind for an explanation. NCIS never closed; plain and simple. It was quieter some days than others, such as Sundays or Christmas, but it was always open, 'round the clock. Crime didn't rest. Even if the heat had gone off and operations were moved to building #200, the flagship building would have some presence, still, and there would be a sign on the door directing employees to the alternate site.

Since that had not happened, Ducky assumed that it was merely a case of something being wrong with the door. Maybe it had malfunctioned just before he arrived, and the guard(s) had gone to report the problem. _Yes, that must be it. I shall just have to go in another way._

There weren't a lot of alternate entrances, due to security restrictions, but Ducky knew a few of them. With little difficulty he entered through the garage. He was about to use the trick of his ID card and the scanner that Tony had once taught him, when he found the door to be slightly ajar.

A small amount of pushing got the door open enough for him to bend down and squeeze through. No alarms sounded. "Hello?" he called, not yet alarmed. "Is anyone here? I must say, you are letting the cold air in, did you know?" He tried to sound jovial, but his spirits drooped when there was no answer to his calls.

_Perhaps I left home too soon, and missed an email from the Director stating that the building was closed…although for the life of me I can't fathom why… _

A retinal scan allowed him into the building, which felt welcomingly warm. Not a heating problem, then… He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Vance's number. It went over to voice mail. Odd. Well, perhaps he is building a snowman with his children. Tim had also been here last night, Ducky remembered. He wondered when the skeleton crew had finally gone home, and why, if there was no emergency? But Tim's phone also had no answer.

"Timothy, this is Ducky. I am at NCIS and can't find anyone. Do you know what is happening? Please call me on my cell when you get this."

Unhindered, he took the elevator to Autopsy, preparing to get to work. opened the door with one hand, and removed his hat with the other...and then stopped short at the sight of the gun in his face. "Oh, dear," he said.

"Doctor," Vance said with relief and lowered his gun. "This is...rather difficult to explain."

Ducky looked at snowy, soaked Vance and pale, bleeding Tim. "I see I miss a lot by not usually coming to work early."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The leader walked back onto the bridge and stared that ruins of his carefully built group. They had failed. All of them, including himself. He had allowed his attention to be focused only on the sacrifice and so had missed the actions of their other captive. Ignoring the groans of those who still lived, he walked over to the blood that had burst out of the sacrificial body at the first stroke. He was strong. He truly had the power of the Navy in his veins. How else could such a man have disarmed and disabled those who held him so handily? The ritual had been a success up to that point.

He knelt on the floor and touched the blood, bringing a sample of it to his lips. He closed his eyes and listened. Yes, the strength they had called was inside Timothy McGee still. They could take him back and finish.

At any rate, he would need to retrieve his property. Even if they had to abandon the plan and make another attempt at a later time, they would need the knife. It was important to their success.

"Who is living?" he asked, a command in his voice as well as a question.

Three voices, one very ragged, answered him.

Two remained silent.

"They are dead," one of the living said.

"They will be reborn. Perhaps they will find success in their next incarnation. We four remain and there is a task to complete. Our goals cannot be achieved without success."

"How did they escape? How is it possible that you did not see?"

The leader smiled. "We followers of vamachara are not all-knowing. It is that which we seek. The path we follow is faster, but even so, we still can be deceived. And it is the case here that we were. We allowed ourselves to be distracted by the ritual and forgot the world around us. Although we seek to master it and control it, we do not have that full control yet."

"They are _dead_!"

"Yes. And we live." He challenged the one who questioned him with a steely glance. It would not do to have them forget who led them and why. The rebellion faded instantly and the man looked away, unable to meet his eyes for long. "Good. We go. They will have returned to the building. The only one who needs to live is the sacrifice. All others can die."

"All others _will_ die," the woman said. "But the man is mine."

The leader smiled. They had purpose now. They had remembered and would fight once more.

"Good. Come." He strode off the bridge and out into the sun and wind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs, Ziva and Tony drove back to the Yard, sustaining only one minor accident along the way (in which the car slid off the highway into a snow bank, but didn't even get scratched). The strengthening sun in its rush toward longer days in the Northern hemisphere was singeing the edges of the snow, turning them to water, despite the fact that temperatures were still a bit below freezing.

Still, the trip had been slow as the highway speeds were down to under 40 miles per hour in many stretches in which the plows had been by a few times but the road conditions were still rough Too little salt here; not enough plowing there. Tony kept up a steady grumble about _what do we pay taxes for? _until Ziva put a hand on his shoulder. "We hear you, Tony. We are just as anxious to get back to the Yard as you are."

"Anxious? Who says I'm _anxious_? Vance and the McGeek can take care of themselves."

"When they're outnumbered, by a bloodthirsty cult? And McGee in bad health?" Gibbs remarked, and turned his head to look out the window.

"They'll be okay," Tony muttered. "They'll be okay." He glared at the odometer, blaming it.

When they neared the District, Gibbs tried his cell phone again. Bars at last! But his calls to Tim and Vance both went to voice mail. After two attempts to each number, he slapped his phone against his leg and swore.

It was past ten when they arrived back at the Yard. "Any trouble here in the last day, Corporal?' Tony asked the guard as he rolled down the window and showed his ID at the gate.

"No, Sir; as far as I know it's been quiet."

The corporal's comrade spoke up. "NCIS went on a lockdown yesterday evening, I heard, but I guess it's been lifted. I saw Dr. Mallard come in a little while ago."

That got the team's attention. "Anyone else come in for NCIS?" Gibbs asked.

"Not that I recall, sir. You've seen the roads. Most of the federal civilian workforce in the District was given the day off."

"Let's go, Tony," Gibbs urged, seeing that the guard house gate was up. There was no telling what they could expect to find.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Ducky came further into Autopsy, dropping his hat to the floor as he took in the sights.

"I promise. It's not usually this exciting," Vance said.

"What's happened?"

"Long story...mostly about us nearly being killed. Can you check McGee out? ...and do you have any spare clothes around for him?"

"Spare clothes?" Ducky asked and then noticed that all Tim had on at the moment was Vance's coat. "Of course. Of course!"

"Good. I'm going to see about getting this door secured. You help him."

"I'm...feeling a bit..." Tim stopped to cough painfully. "...b-better, Director."

"Your cough sounds very bad, Timothy. Come and let's get you in a better state if we can."

"I'm...not wearing...any clothes, Ducky," Tim said and flushed.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise. Come, lad."

Ducky extended his hand and Tim stood.

"What is that in your hand?"

Tim looked down and then at Ducky, a little confused. "I...It's a knife."

"I know that...oh, never mind. Come along." Ducky led Tim back to his office and got him into some pants at least. Then, he had him come out and sit on one of the tables. Tim wouldn't let go of the knife. He was still shivering, and he limped on his injured feet.

"What in the world happened, Timothy?"

"Almost...wh-what happened to Sergeant James," Tim mumbled. "...but I'm okay."

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah. I am."

"Let me clean you up."

"Do we have time?" Tim looked at Ducky and then over at Vance as he re-entered the room. "How long until they come back?"

"I don't know, McGee. It's not certain that they'll come at all...maybe we beat them enough that they'll just leave."

Tim was shaking his head before Vance finished speaking. "They'll come. I know they'll come. I'm still alive...and...this." He held out the knife. "They need this."

"Why did you take it, McGee?" Vance asked.

Tim's eyes were frightened. "I...I don't know. I really don't know, Director. I...I was...and he... It was like he'd..." He coughed again. "They'll come to get it. They'll need it...no matter what."

Ducky looked at Vance with concern and hurried to get his doctor's bag. He could hear Tim behind him, breathing heavily and Ducky was concerned by the sound. When he returned to Tim, he took out a stethoscope and listened to Tim's lungs.

"I can hear quite a bit of congestion in there, Timothy. I think you've not done yourself any favors."

"I'd rather be congested than dead."

"Good point. While we have time, if you'll let me bandage your chest."

Tim nodded a few times but didn't really look at Ducky. "Okay. Okay." He coughed again.

"Would you put the knife down, Timothy?"

"No."

"Then, lower it at least."

Tim kept the knife tightly in his hand, but he did rest it on the table. As Ducky started to clean away the blood, Tim flinched.

Ducky gasped as he saw what was on Tim's chest. "These are chakras, are they not?"

Tim nodded.

"Oh, Timothy."

"Like Sergeant James."

Ducky bandaged the two carved wounds and then sighed. "There. I have done the best I can, but you should probably be examined in detail when we have a chance."

"Sure. Okay."

"Let me look at your feet."

"My feet?" Tim looked down. "Oh. I didn't even notice that."

"I'm sure you had other things on your mind, Timothy."

Suddenly, there were sounds...invaders. Tim stiffened.

"It's him," he said.

"Who, Timothy?"

"It's the crazy tantrists," Vance said from the door. "We don't have much time. We can retreat."

"Where?" Tim asked. "If we run, they'll follow. There aren't as many as there were...and there are more of us."

"Sounds like you're asking for a last stand, McGee," Vance said with a smile.

"Let's set the terms," Tim said. "Not let them do it again."

"Okay, McGee. You're right. We stop them here. Ducky?"

Ducky smiled. He squared his shoulders. "I am prepared to render whatever assistance is necessary."

"All right. Do you mind if we...very quickly...dismantle Autopsy?"

"I think I get your meaning, Director. Allow me."

Ducky got to his feet and began pushing one of the autopsy tables to the door. Tim began to move to help as well.

"No, lad. I think you'd be better served sitting."

Tim shook his head. "I can't sit by and watch, Ducky."

"Come on, then, McGee," Vance said. "We need to give them obstacles, things to slow them down. There aren't many bullets left in this gun; so we'll need to find some way to take them down without...conventional weaponry."

Tim nodded and looked around. Then, he limped over to Ducky's supply cupboard and grabbed empty specimen jars. Taking off the top Ducky had given him, he pulled Vance's coat tightly around his bare chest. Using the tantric knife he still had not put down, he tore the scrubs into wide strips and then placed a number of the jars in the strips. While Ducky and Vance watched in confusion, Tim used the knife to break the jars. Only when the glass shards were loosely wrapped in the fabric did he look up at them.

"Unconventional weaponry," he said...and then coughed loudly. "I don't care who they are. I think they'll dislike getting glass thrown in their faces."

Vance smiled. "Good thinking."

The door rattled. They were trying to get through. Tim jumped at the sound. Ducky paused in his preparations and walked over to Tim as he crouched on the floor, his feet still bleeding a little bit.

"Timothy...I think it is time for you to let the knife go."

Tim looked at him and then at the knife. He shook his head.

"Not yet, Ducky. It's not time yet."

"Why not, lad?"

"I can't...explain it. It's just...not time. I need to hold on to it for a little while longer."

"Very well."

"Ducky, can you help me with this table?" Vance asked.

The door rattled again.

"They'll be getting through very soon," Ducky observed.

"I know." As they shoved the table directly in front of the door, Vance looked back at Tim who was still crouched on the floor with his makeshift missiles. "Something weird happened on that ship, Ducky."

"Well, yes..."

"No, more than just the...the knife. Do you believe that a person could be hypnotized against his will?"

"Not in my experience."

"Then, I can't explain what happened on that ship, but it was like McGee was...put into a trance."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than dreamed of in your philosophy,'" Ducky said with a smile. "I don't pretend to have all the answers. Timothy is obviously still frightened by what happened to him. If he is still like this in a day or so, then, I'll be worried. At this point, it's totally understandable that he would be operating at a different level."

Another heavy thump on the door. It was obviously weakening.

"Our guests will be arriving soon," Vance said. "Time to get ourselves out of the line of fire. McGee, move out of sight!"

Tim nodded and began to shift his projectiles to one side. Ducky hurried over and turned off the lights...all but the emergency lights. Autopsy was plunged into gloom as the three men awaited the inevitable invasion. Tim still clutched the knife in his right hand, but his left hand hovered over the wads of glass shards. He knelt on the floor behind one of the tables and his breathing was still audible. Ducky was worried that he'd aggravated his illness too much, but there was no time to deal with that now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

With a final bang, the door gave out and flew open. Instantly, Tim flung one of his missiles at the figures in the doorway. There was a shout of pain and one of the figures jerked back out of sight.

Tim threw another one but this time, the figure ducked.

There was the sound of gunfire, but Tim couldn't discern who was doing the shooting. Was it Vance or...or one of them?

Tim threw another handful of glass and there was a metallic sound as the person dropped his gun. Then...another gunshot and the same figure fell to the ground...and didn't get back up again.

Another gunshot...and then a click.

There was laughter.

"Out of ammunition."

Tim shuddered at the voice and drew back further into the shadows. He still remembered that insidious voice whispering without ceasing, coyly forcing him into a state of complete capitulation. It was as though he had no control over his own body. He was just watching everything happening.

_No!_ Tim said angrily to himself. _No. This man won't control me this time._

And he knew what he had to do. Vance was clearly out of ammunition but he was staying hidden. They didn't know exactly where he was. ...if their attention could be distracted, he could do like he had done on the ship and get the drop on them. ...and Ducky was staying out of sight as well...but Tim was the one they wanted.

He took a breath and stood up. He winced as he stepped into the light streaming in from the open door. He could feel his cut-up feet now. They had thawed and he could feel them.

"Hey!" he said. "Is this what you're looking for?" He held out the knife he had not yet put down.

"Yes, it is...as are you."

Another deep breath...and then he started coughing again.

"Come and...and get it!"

"He's mine!" the woman said and moved forward.

"No," said the leader firmly. "You will not touch him yet."

He walked toward Tim slowly and confidently...as he had before. No concern about his surroundings. No concerns about anything.

"We must do things right."

He came forward and then smiled.

"Give me back my property."

Then, there was the scrape of metal on the floor and a voice.

"Freeze! Stop where you are!"

The woman turned back away from Tim.

"What do we do?"

"You know what to do...as do I."

There was a flurry of movement behind the leader as the woman and man both leapt out of the light and into the darkness. There was the sound of a struggle, but Tim couldn't pay attention to that. The leader suddenly moved, as smoothly as he'd done before...right at Tim. He grabbed Tim's wrist, holding the knife outward and rammed it into his own torso. Tim was left staring at the leader of this strange cult as he smiled.

"I will...see you again... The strength is still inside you."

Then, the leader fell to the floor, the knife sticking out of his chest. Tim stared down at him in horror.

A burst of noise and a groan, drew his attention away and he struggled to see into the gloom. There was a fight going on, but he couldn't see a thing.

...then, the other door into Autopsy opened. Tim looked hopelessly toward it. He had no more weapons. He felt drained.

It seemed as though he had no more fight in him.

Slowly, he dropped to the floor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony rattled and thumped on the locked front doors of NCIS HQ. _"Hey!" _he bellowed, in hopes of catching the attention of the guard on duty—who wasn't in sight. The bright sunlight on the snow was a distracting reflection on the door's glass, making it hard to see inside.

"People come in here at all hours," Ziva remarked. "There should be a sign on the door, directing them elsewhere, unless there was no time to make a sign."

"Why tip off the enemy with a new location?" Tony snapped. "Like, _'Over here! Come and get us!'_"

"Quiet, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, as he reached into the back of the truck. "Grab a rifle. Longer range." He already had one in hand.

"I can pick the door lock, Gibbs, but it is moderately complicated," said Ziva. "It is not state-of-the-art, of course, but moderately durable. It will take time."

"We don't have time," said Gibbs, and, after motioning them to stand back, shot several times at the glass. The small holes thus having weakened the glass, Gibbs then slipped on gloves, picked up a rock, and broke enough of the remaining glass away so they could get in.

"We don't have bulletproof glass on the door?" Tony said, blinking.

"Ya think the government is made of money? Come on." Gibbs was already stepping through the door and into the hallway.

Finding no one about on a very quick check on floor one—where there should be a guard, at the very least—Ziva and Tony looked to Gibbs for orders. "Autopsy," Gibbs said. They took the stairs, moving very quietly.

Gibbs listened at the Autopsy floor door, and then pushed it open. People in the dark. _"Freeze! NCIS!" _he shouted, as Ziva hit the light switch. The three of them darted for cover as answering gunshots rang out.

Tony got off a good shot, he could tell, as one of the strangers cried out and fell. Another rose up, threateningly. "Gibbs!" Ziva cried as the assailant had him too closely in his sights. She jumped closer, at her own risk, both distracting the combatant and getting a better angle at him. Simultaneously, she and Gibbs shot…and the shots were good.

The team held their breath for a moment, and then it seemed that the crisis was over. They stepped over the carnage, the blood-slicked floor, and confronted a subdued Ducky, Vance and Tim.

"Oh, good," Ducky let out a pent-up sigh. "I don't get so many visitors in here on a Saturday, you know. But you are most welcome."

Tony and Gibbs cuffed the surviving tantrists. Ziva helped Tim to his feet. "Really, McGee; the next time you are sick…you might be better off staying home, I think."

"What; and let you guys have all the fun?" Tim replied, wheezing. "Right, Director?"

"Something for our memoirs, Agent McGee. This one will certainly rate a chapter."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

There's a lot of piddling work that needs to be done after suspects are apprehended. Most civilians don't realize that. It took, seemingly, several copies of Vance, Gibbs, Ducky, Tony and Ziva to put the surviving tantrists into cells at Holding, to phone Jimmy to come into work and help Ducky, to photograph the scene here and leading back to the _Barry _(and on the _Barry_), to start typing up reports, to file an incident report (break-in) with both the SECNAV and the Navy Yard Security, to reopen the closed main entrance door (temporarily nailing a board over the broken glass), to call a door company to come out for an emergency replacement…

Too much to do for people already tired, but it had to be done.

Tim was tucked away in a warm, quiet area; to relax for a bit until one of the others could be spared to take him to the hospital for treatment. He'd offered to start typing up his report, but was told to wait and…_rest_. It wasn't often that one of the MCRT was told to not work, much less by both Gibbs and Vance simultaneously, so Tim quickly took the hint and gave in.

Gibbs had a hammer and nails in hands well-accustomed to holding both while Vance held a piece of plywood in place over the broken door. February being what it was, they were eager to keep the cold air outside. "Still got to get a guard on this entrance," said Gibbs, speaking over the two nails in his mouth. "You really sent everyone home when you evacuated this place?"

"Oh, good grief," Vance said, suddenly, remembering.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

In the shelter-in-place room, James' ringing phone broke the quiet. Sleepers woke up, and the few talkers hushed. "Dyer here."

"_This is Director Vance. Mr. Dyer, the emergency is over. You people can pack up and go home. I'll see that you all get credited with overtime."_

"Thanks, Director! Is, uh…is everything and everyone all right?"

"_The situation's improving by the minute. There was a skirmish, but we won out."_

"We'll pick up after ourselves and then leave."

"Is Agent McGee still here?" Dallas called out, but James shut his phone, ignoring her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The SIP people streamed out the front entrance as Vance and Gibbs finished nailing the plywood in place. They chorused their goodbyes and thanks to Vance, and nodded to Gibbs, who might have had a role in something, but they didn't know what.

"Oh, I think I left the book I was reading at my desk," Dallas said, turning back.

Maria and Liza each grabbed one of her arms. "It'll still be there on Monday," said Maria. "Come on; Liza's going to give us a ride, remember?"

"Oh, but I—" Dallas sputtered, and was pulled along over her protests.

"Agent McGee okay?" asked Henry, the security guard. "If he is, you might want to protect him from a female on the prowl."

Vance and Gibbs only grinned. Then Vance said, "Henry, would you mind staying on another hour until we can get a replacement guard out here?"

"Was going to suggest that myself, Director," Henry said, tipping his hat. "After yesterday's excitement, a little bit of Ordinary will be refreshing."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was waiting for someone to come and tell him everything was over. After all this time by himself, waiting, he was ready to go to a hospital and have someone fuss over him. His thoughts were interrupted by a noisy coughing fit.

_Next time I'm sick. I'm staying home._

He ached all over. His chest from coughing...and from the shapes carved there. His feet hurt. He was tired. ...and he still had that small nick on his forehead from...being marked. He was still a bit cold.

Beyond all that, though, Tim was still a bit freaked out by what had happened...and it wasn't even so much about the near-sacrifice itself. It was about...the still-nameless leader of that crazy group. His voice, so confident...so _insidious_...and he had just...just killed himself without a second thought, confident that he'd return. Tim shuddered.

The door to the conference room opened and Ziva poked her head inside and smiled at him.

"Hello, McGee. How are you feeling?"

"Uh...yeah..." Tim said, lamely, unable to come up with a concise answer to that question.

Ziva's smile faltered slightly.

"Are you all right?"

"Not at the moment. What's up?"

"There is another storm headed this way. Gibbs would like you to get to a hospital before it arrives."

"Another?" Tim sighed...and coughed.

"This is much smaller, but with all the snow that fell in the last one..."

"Right. I'm ready to go anytime."

"No complaints?"

"None."

"How are your feet?"

"Sore...but I'll manage."

"Director Vance said you might appreciate having your regular clothes, now that they have been dried from their time outside."

"Yes," Tim said, bestirring himself enough to stand and limp over to where Ziva was holding out his clothing. "The scrubs aren't really very flattering...or especially comfortable. Ducky's shorter than I am and Jimmy and I...just aren't...shaped the same. I'll change and...and come down."

"Very well. We will be waiting for you."

"Okay."

Ziva closed the door and Tim changed into his own clothes, grateful for their thickness, but still shivering a little bit. He put them on as quickly as he could (which was not very quickly at all) and then limped out of the conference room and down to the bullpen. No one was there for the moment and so Tim limped toward his desk.

"Probie!"

Tim turned, mustering up a weak smile. "What?"

"You just missed your most devoted fan."

Tim thought of the woman who had evaluated him so disturbingly.

"Dallas Wright! The Cybercrimes girl! She's really into you, McGee."

Tim let out a weak laugh. "Oh...I'm glad I missed her."

"You all right, McGee?"

"Not really, Tony. How was West Virginia?"

"Dull in comparison, I think...and you'll have to go out there. We stayed at the most amazing bed and breakfast place _ever_. I think I'll move out there."

_Thwack!_

"DiNozzo, you were supposed to be helping him to the car!" Gibbs growled.

"On it, Boss. Come, Probie. Your chariot awaits."

Tim coughed a few times and then let Tony support him slightly as they headed out of the building.

"What happened to the doors?" he asked.

"Gibbs couldn't wait for anyone to come and open them."

Tim smiled.

"Thanks for stopping by," he said and shivered in the cold wind.

"No problem, McGee. Let's get you out of the great outdoors."

"Sure. Fine by me."

In the end, Tony, Gibbs and Tim went to the hospital. It took a while to get Tim admitted, and then, when he was, they had to give an abbreviated explanation for why Tim had two Hindu symbols carved into his chest and why his feet were chafed and cut. It was rather difficult to explain it all, but finally, after checking the status of his pneumonia, they decided to admit him overnight to make sure that all his exertions hadn't seriously aggravated his illness. Gibbs sent Tony out to check with Abby, let her know where Tim was so she could fuss over him...and then looked at Tim with a questioning glance.

"I'm okay, Boss. Thanks."

"What happened? Vance said things got weird out there."

"They did...really weird."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked again.

"It was like he...he got control of me. I didn't feel like I could...resist what he was telling me to do. It was really freaky. He just kept talking and talking and he never looked away from me...not once the ceremony started. I couldn't fight him...and then...when Director Vance started...started fighting, it seemed to...to wake me up, but I felt...different." Tim shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it, Boss. It was... This is going to sound crazy."

"Try me."

"He told me that all the power of the Navy would be drained through me, through my life's blood...and when I started to fight back, when Vance was fighting...I felt...kind of...like it _was_, like I was stronger than I really am. ...and then, in Autopsy. He was so convinced that he'd be born again, reincarnated, that he'd be back. I almost believed him."

Gibbs' expression didn't change, but Tim was sure that he was a bit surprised. He leaned back for a few moments.

"Do you _still_ believe him?"

"Not really...but I can't explain what happened."

"I can't either...but I don't think you have to worry about this guy being reincarnated."

"Maybe not...but there are others. The two you arrested...and who's to say that was all of them? What if there are more?"

"We'll find them if there are, McGee. Don't worry."

Tim rubbed his chest, feeling the stitches through the hospital gown. "Uh...well...I think I'm going to be feeling worried for a little while, actually, Boss."

Gibbs smiled. "That's fine."

"And...you know what?"

"What?"

"I wouldn't mind having a required psychological debriefing this time."

Gibbs laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

On Monday, work resumed in Autopsy; Ducky and Jimmy concentrating on the body of Melissa Williamson. The Navy lieutenant who had died twenty years ago might hold the clues to the current case.

Ducky leaned close to the corpse's head and murmured to it. "Now why, my dear, would such a tragedy have happened to an experienced hiker such as yourself? You were extremely fit, young, and capable. You knew these mountains. It seems unlikely that a fall would have happened to you. Yes, of course it's always possible, but the odds were small. Your niece wants the truth. And so do I. Mr. Palmer, clamp here."

"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy then grinned. "Did you ever stop to think that to a scavenger, a bone might look like a Lincoln Log? You know, those toy 'logs' used to build toy houses? Maybe they would take them and—" Under Ducky's disapproving look, he retreated. "Maybe I should keep my thoughts to myself."

"You'll have to forgive him," Ducky said to the corpse as Jimmy was sent off to Abby's lab. "He is, in fact, fairly amusing at times. The rest of the time…" Ducky only sighed.

Gibbs walked in. "Anything?" he asked.

To the layman, the grizzled remains would seem to offer no more clues than a boulder would. Ducky, however, could find life (so to speak) in bodies that had ceased to live decades ago. "What was left behind, after the scavengers and the elements had their opportunity, are marks on the bones. These are cuts that went too deep; penetrating not just the upper layers of flesh."

"Knife marks?"

"Yes, most certainly. There is a slight difference in depth in, say, just this line here. The blade is pressing deeper as it goes down. There is a similar pattern on this rib, and then on this one."

"What's it all mean?"

"I think you can guess, but I'll say it. I've sent young Palmer to Abby with pictures to analyze. To my eye, there appears to be a pattern in them. Similar to the chakras we've seen on Sergeant James."

"But James' cuts weren't bone-deep."

"No, they weren't. It appears that Lt. Williamson's cuts—if that's what they are—were made by an inexperienced hand."

"The tantrist, as a younger man."

"Quite possibly."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It wasn't until Thursday that they managed to solidly identify all the tantrists involved. The surviving members had refused to speak no matter what threats were made. They seemed to have no interest or concern in the world around them. They had reacted with contempt toward any suggestion of a deal, even with perfect understanding of what kind of jail time would be required of them. They had sneered at the shrink engaged to evaluate their sanity.

All that meant that they had to find out who they were using what they could get: DNA, fingerprints, witness statements. Tony had volunteered to go back to Franklin, even to stay overnight if necessary...in order to be thorough, of course.

"_Ms. Bradshaw had seen them all off and on for years, Boss," Tony reported. "She said they were regular vacationers in the area. She never associated them with...with all this...stuff."_

"_And how was the food, Tony?" Ziva asked with a smile._

"_Oh, excellent. She said we could all come back anytime."_

Tim was home for the week, as ordered by his doctor...bored out of his skull, but finally starting to get beyond all the strangeness that had ruled during the attack by the followers of the left-hand path. He and Vance had given their statements and Ducky had officially related what he himself had seen. The knife was in evidence lockup and the tantrists who had died were in Autopsy.

"_Gibbs!" Abby shouted excitedly. "This knife is sooooo cool! I mean, it's not. It's weird and twisted and...and a murder weapon, but it's really neat! This isn't something you can buy at a local store. In fact, I don't think _was_ bought...I think it was...homemade! Crazy, huh? And it's definitely not new. This thing...it's been around for a while...and it's been used...and I'm guessing that it wasn't ever used to cut up people's veggies. It's got a dark aura, Gibbs."_

All in all, it was a distinct relief to discover that some of these people had identities.

"_These people haven't been on the grid since they were in college," Tony said. "It's crazy the way people can just...disappear."_

Two of the tantrists who had died had been identified as Shana Dalling and Allen Oberson, both of whom had gone missing in the late eighties. The surviving man had also been identified as Jeremy Swanson, a college dropout who had decided to abandon his fiancé for some strange group...and then had vanished. The leader and the surviving woman were not in the system at all. Neither of them had fingerprints, DNA or dental records on file anywhere, thus rendering them effectively anonymous.

"_It is strange. It is as though they do not exist," Ziva said. "How is that possible? In this world, everyone leaves a trace somewhere...but these people have not. Not ever."_

"_There is one thing we know about them, now," Abby announced. "You'll never guess."_

"_What?" Ziva asked. _

"_Oh, come on...guess!"_

_Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Abby!"_

"_Okay, okay. The guy who's the leader? The dead guy? I got the idea to compare the DNA from the people we couldn't identify, and guess what!"_

"_They're not related," Tony said in surprise._

"_Ding! Got it in one, Tony. Half the alleles in common."_

"_He's her father?"_

"_Looks like it."_

_A moment of triumph, quickly dashed._

"_And still we know nothing about them," Ziva said, her voice quiet._

The anonymity of some of the players in this strange drama lent an air of mystery to it, a feeling of it not being finished...but it _was_ finished. They had solved not one, but _two_ cases by taking this group down. Abby's analysis of the knife marks on the bones from Lt. Williamson made it patently clear that she had been an early victim of this group, perhaps with different members, but the same group, the same people. Three of the members had disappeared from public life only a year before Williamson had been found in the woods.

"_Well, Agent Gibbs?" Vance asked._

"_Looks like that's it. JAG has control of the ones who are still alive. We've turned over everything we found."_

"_But it doesn't feel over, does it."_

"_No, it doesn't."_

"_Agent McGee is on the mend?"_

"_Yes. He'll be back next week."_

"_On light duty?"_

"_Of course, but he's insisting...and I think we all need him back here, to be honest."_

_Vance stood up and looked out at the piles of snow sparkling in the sunlight...and then over at the _Barry_ which stood so staunchly in its place._

"_Yes. We need something to close this chapter. Strange as it's been...it needs to be over."_

And over it was...more or less.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_The next week..._

Vance was headed into NCIS early Monday morning when he stopped and looked back, away from the building and toward the river...towards the _Barry_. It was finally reopened after its stint as a crime scene. It being winter, there wasn't much rush in getting it cleared, but he was glad that there was at least the option. He didn't like the idea of the _Barry_ being the site of such events as had been inflicted on her.

He looked at his watch.

_I've got the time,_ he thought to himself and changed his trajectory to the old museum ship instead of the the warm NCIS building.

The weather hadn't much improved, although the snow had finally stopped falling. The snow was still piled up everywhere it could be. There was a warmup predicted for this coming week which would cut quite a swath out of the snow in the Metro area. The sun was already out today which was nice.

Not really interested in taking the full tour, Vance went up the exit gangplank, wanting to be out on deck for a few minutes.

He was surprised to find that he wasn't the only one with that idea.

Tim was already there, leaning on a railing, looking out at the Anacostia. Vance hadn't really seen the agent much since the end of the invasion of Autopsy. Too much to do, and Tim had been home, recovering. ...and in spite of their shared experience, it wasn't as though they were _friends_.

...but there was something about both of them choosing to be here at this precise moment that made it a natural thing for Vance to walk up beside Tim and place a companionable hand on his shoulder.

Tim jumped slightly, startled, but then he relaxed and smiled a little without speaking.

Vance leaned against the railing, keeping silent himself.

They stood side by side for a few minutes.

"They told me it's all over now. Case closed," Tim said finally, his voice quiet.

"Looks that way. The leader is dead. Most of the group is dead. The two who survived are in prison, pending psychiatric observation."

"That's not over," Tim said.

"I know."

"It's too easy."

"Yeah."

"My shrink says it's just my justifiable paranoia after what happened...but it doesn't feel over."

"No, it doesn't."

Tim smiled but didn't look at Vance. "Are you just humoring me?"

"No. McGee...some things happened here that I can't explain, that I would guess _no one_ could explain satisfactorily. That makes it hard to...to put aside."

"Yeah." Again, he smiled. "My shrink is working with the theory of hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion to explain it all away."

"And?"

"And maybe he's right. Maybe that's all it is, but I looked into his eyes when...when he used me to commit suicide. He was _so_ convinced that he'd be back again, reborn. Even if I don't believe it...it's hard to...to discount such...conviction. ...and what happened here..."

"I agree," Vance said simply. "It's from another world, another time...a point of view that you and I can't understand. That makes it...almost alien. When you can't think the same way, it's hard to completely disregard it." He laughed a little. "What if it turns out to be true?"

"Yeah."

Vance looked at Tim sympathetically. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm okay," Tim said nodding. "It's just...I never...never thought that I'd be wrapped up in something like this. Who expects when they wake up in the morning that they'll end up being a human sacrifice? I mean...we don't live in ancient India or Greece or wherever. We're in Washington DC...in the 21st century!"

"Yeah."

Tim looked over at him. "Can you accept that it all happened?"

Vance smiled. "That it happened? Yes. ...but I can't promise that I haven't woke up in the middle of the night and held my wife close as a way of getting rid of the nightmares. ...don't tell anyone."

Tim smiled back. "Is it really over?"

"For them?" he asked, pointing toward NCIS. "Yeah, it's over for them. For us? You and me? No. Not yet."

"What if there _are_ more of them out there somewhere?"

"Hopefully, there aren't...and if there are, hopefully, they'll be caught and you and I will never have to deal with them again."

"Will it ever be over for us?"

Vance stood up straight, pulled Tim up as well and pointed him toward the gangplank.

"Maybe not completely, but day by day, it'll get closer to being over. As long as we're living our lives, it doesn't have to be completely over. Getting back to your life will help. That's why I approved your request to come back to work today, but I don't want you overdoing it."

Tim nodded. "I won't."

They began to walk back off the ship, Vance's arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Uh...Dir–Leon?"

"Yeah?"

"If I ever had to choose someone else to be there with me right then...I'm glad it was you. Thanks for not leaving me there."

Vance just smiled and walked. He kept his arm where it was until they reached Sicard Street. Then, he took a deep breath.

"Back to work, Agent McGee."

"Yes, Director."

They went inside and went their separate ways.

FINIS!


End file.
